


Class "P Z, 

C " Book .H 

Gcpight N°. 

CJDFYRSGHT DEPOSIT. 



» 























PALMS 




s 

ANNA HANSON DORSEY, 


Author of “Coaina,” “Feemmings,” “Tangeed Paths,” 
“May Brooke,” etc., etc., etc. 



BALTIMORE : 

PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURPHY & CO., 

Printers to His Holiness the Pope, 
and to His Eminence Cardinal Gibbons. 

1887. 



Copyright, 1887, 

By ANNA HANSON DORSEY. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
















PALMS 






CHAPTER L 

A ROMAN VIIylyA. 

A rough road, which at certain curves over- 
looked the Tiber, wound steeply up the Aven- 
tine to a plateau, where it abruptly terminated in 
front of a double gateway of massive bronze, 
which, superbly wrought in open yet solid and 
graceful designs, admitted a view of the villa 
and gardens it protected. Not an unobstructed 
view, however ; for great boughs of old chestnut 
and ilex trees, which shaded the broad avenue, 
intervened here and there, allowing only 
glimpses of a marble fasade, of a portico with 
clustered pillars, and some gilded balconies ; 
while, stretching away on every side, vistas of 
terraces all abloom with many-hued flowers, 
fountains tossing their spray in the sunshine, 
and fair statues gleaming out from the green 
shadows of tremulous vines, enchanted the eye. 

The great bronze gates were thrown open, as 
if for the admission of illustrious guests who 
had come in state, in ivory-mounted and gilded 
chariots — such as the Roman patricians used — 
to visit the lord of this fair estate. Distinguished 

3 


4 


PALMS. 


they must be indeed, for even the porter was 
absent from his post ; gone doubtless to snatch 
a glimpse of noble senators and jewelled ladies 
as they stepped from their chariots through the 
portico into the rich and lofty apartments, where 
the most honored guests were received. 

A grassy expanse, profusely sprinkled with 
wild violets, such as bloom only under the Roman 
sun, and yellow cistus, sloped away from the 
shady avenue to the garden terraces and winding 
walks, each one by the combined efforts of art 
and nature more beautiful than the last. Groups 
of pomegranates full of scarlet flowers contrasted 
with the cream-tinted blooms and dark waxen 
leaves of the magnolias that grew near them ; 
the sweet olive and almond trees in full snowy 
blossom clustered together ; here was a planta- 
tion of lime trees, there one of orange, filling the 
air with fragrance ; and apart from all these, as 
if keeping watch and ward over the scene, more 
than one tall ilex towered. Feathery palms, 
fountains, and roses that rivalled in beauty and 
fragrance the far-famed roses of Paestum, sur- 
prised and delighted the eye at every turn ; while 
on the confines of the grounds a grove of pines, 
cypresses, and mulberry trees climbed the rocky 
hill, giving a sombre charm to its ruggedness, 
and at the same time affording a background 
which threw out in stronger, brighter relief the 
lavish beauty outspread before it. Through all 
the lovely spaces statues gleamed whitely, or 


PALMS. 


5 


seemed to tremble with life under the flickering 
golden shadows cast through the leaves above 
them. A path of colored pebbles led along a 
curve of the hill to a cascade leaping from its 
source high up among the rocks— just where a 
storm-riven cypress had fallen, as if to let in the 
sunshine upon it — into a moss-covered stone 
basin, so skillfully constructed that it looked 
like an accident of nature. In its swift descent, 
smiting the rocks with silvery music as it fell, it 
looked like spangled gauze lightly swayed by the 
summer breeze. The air was full of languorous 
fragrance ; the finches carolled their love-songs 
among the limes ; and a nightingale, poised on 
the topmost bough of an ilex, poured out strains 
of melody that might have been stolen from the 
lyre of Orpheus. 

From the cascade a wide walk, tessellated with 
black and yellow marble, led to a plateau that 
overhung a steep descent — the terminus of the 
garden on that side — which was protected by a 
parapet of some hard red stone gracefully cut 
and polished, and in keeping with its surround- 
ings. From this point the view was extensive 
and commanding. Below lay the city, and far 
away the country beyond — the imperial city, with 
its temples in honor of the gods, its columns and 
triumphal arches, its treasures of Grecian art, its 
monuments of Roman power; “its spoils and 
trophies of the Punic and Gallic wars”; its 
dread altars, sacred to the rites of their mytho- 


6 


PALMS. 


logical creed ; its palaces, its stately Capitol, and 
surrounded by groups of magnificent Temples 
and palaces the Forum, where, it was the popular 
delusion to believe, Justice guarded the laws and 
liberties of the people with eternal vigilance. 
Beyond the city stretched the Campagna, the 
monotony of its wide extent broken harmoni- 
ously by the aqueducts, and the shadows thrown 
by their great arches over the verdant plain, 
where red and purple anemones and the yellow 
cistus bloomed in wild profusion ; and a few 
scattered ruins overgrown by wisterias and wall- 
flowers, with olive trees as old as Romulus 
grouped about them, showing the site of ancient 
cities levelled ages ago by the advance of con- 
quering hosts. In the- distance, through the 
transparent misty veil that shimmered over them, 
rose the Alban hills ; beyond these the Sabine 
summits, crested with snow. Woods rank with 
verdure, trending southward, outlined the 
boundary of the plain on one side; there, like a 
belt of emerald, stretched the deadly marshes, 
and far westward glimmered the sea. 

It was like a dream of enchantment, all this 
beauty, these far-reaching views under the blue 
sky, steeped in the splendor of the Roman sun- 
shine. 

But how silent were the beautiful gardens ! 
how hushed, except for the silvery tinkling of 
fountains and the carolling of birds ! Not a 
human sound ! Was the place consecrated to 


PALMS. 


7 


Pan? Was its sacred soil pressed only by the 
feet of the gods? The villa appeared as deserted 
and silent as the gardens, although it was the 
hour when the pleasure-loving Romans, with 
their sensuous perceptions of all that is bright 
and beautiful, lived in the open air. Outside its 
walls there was no sign of life ; from within, no 
sounds to indicate that distinguished and princely 
visitors were being entertained in the luxurious 
fashion the Romans delighted in, to the measures 
of soft instrumental music, and voices of song. 

The villa, with its fair and picturesque sur- 
roundings, was the summer abode of a wealthy 
Roman patrician, named Nemesius (his prceno- 
men tradition does not give), who had already 
distinguished himself in the military service of 
the Empire. When on duty in or near Rome, 
it was in this favorite spot that he and his young 
wife spent their days in the realization of an 
almost idyllic happiness. She was not only 
beautiful and endowed with many noble quali- 
ties, but the blood of one of the Caesars flowed 
in her veins, losing nothing of its fire and spirit, 
which, however, no untoward circumstances had 
aroused — happily for her — to disturb her un- 
clouded life. People used to predict that in the 
future Rome would have in her another Cornelia, 
her virtues were so blent with a certain modest 
dignity, which was not the offspring of pride, 
but of an elevated nature. Her companionship 
lured Nemesius from the baser pleasures of the 


8 


PALMS. 


young patricians, and awakened in his mind the 
ambition to fill out her high ideal of a true man. 
They both honored the gods: they burnt incense 
before them on their household altars, they of- 
fered libations to secure their favor, they crowned 
the statues of their Penates with fresh garlands 
daily, and attended the grand ceremonials held 
in the temples in honor of their deities. It was 
a false religion, but they knew no other; and, 
while practising the maxims of the best pagan 
philosophy, they had no desire to indulge in the 
license it allowed its votaries. 

Here in their summer retreat on the Aventine, 
Nemesius and Claudia passed their days so bliss- 
fully it seemed incredible that even the Fates 
could possess the power to penetrate the barriers 
erected by Hove around their home; and if such 
a suggestion ever presented itself to the mind of 
either, it was instantly banished to the shades. 
But even then, on that fair summer eve, while 
the birds sang and the fountains sparkled in the 
level sunbeams; while a luminous, infinite mys- 
tery seemed to veil the far-off spaces, and the 
flower-scented air brooded like a life-giving balm 
over all the strange silence, and long shadows 
began to steal along the slopes blue with violets, 
a nearer approach to the villa exhibited signs 
not only of human occupation, but of some im- 
pending woe. The numerous slaves of the 
household moved noiselessly about, with pale, 
frightened faces, speaking only in low whispers 


PALMS. 


9 


to each other as they passed to and fro on hur- 
ried errands ; the women who were the personal 
attendants of their mistress suppressed their 
sobs, but did not restrain their tears, as they 
crouched listening and expectant on the broad 
marble staircase leading to the upper apartments; 
men, with sunbrowned faces, and hands rough- 
ened by labor, stood about in silent groups, 
amongst them the porter, whose duty it was to 
keep the great bronze gates at the entrance of 
the avenue. He had left them wide open, as if 
illustrious guests in their chariots of ivory and 
gold had passed through ; but only one visitor 
had entered the villa, not through the bronze 
gates, nor seen of any — a king having power that 
no mortal might withstand, be he high or low, 
powerful or weak ; his brow was crowned with 
asphodel and poppies, and his name was Death. 

In her favorite sitting-room, where she had 
passed so many of her happiest days, the beauti- 
ful young wife of Nemesius lay dying. The 
couch on which she reposed, draped with gold- 
embroidered silk, had been drawn out into the 
middle of the room for air. The most lavish 
adornments and priceless treasures in ivory, 
lapis lazuli, and ebony inlaid with gold ; hang- 
ings of Persian silks, and cunningly- woven mats 
of rich dyes from the far Bast ; Etrurian vases 
and graceful statues, completed the furnishing 
of the spacious apartment, mocking by their 
splendor and their sacred association with her 


IO 


PALMS. 


brief dream of happiness the pale, recumben^ fig- 
ure in their midst, over whose features the white 
shadows of approaching dissolution were steal- 
ing, without impairing, but rather rendering 
more perfect in beauty, their rare classic outline. 
Those upon whom the shadow of death falls 
have strange, restless fancies, it is said ; hers 
was to be brought here ; and Nemesius, who de- 
nied her nothing, had her couch removed — him- 
self assisting, lest the least jar should increase 
her suffering — and placed according to her de- 
sire. Clinging to his hand as he leaned over 
her, his face almost as white as hers, and set in 
lines of stern, unspeakable grief — clinging as if 
so Fate could not separate them, she whispered : 
‘ ‘ I can not leave thee ! Beseech the gods that 
they spare me.” 

“Sacrifice is being offered for thee at this mo- 
ment, ’ ’ he said, biting back the fury of his grief, 
while the veins of his forehead stood out like 
cords ; for he saw how vain it would be. 

On the other side of the couch knelt a pale, 
sorrow-stricken woman, who held a vase of pun- 
gent perfume, in which she wet a napkin to wipe 
off the cold sweat from the face of her dying 
mistress; for she was her favorite slave, also 
her faithful friend. The physician — the most 
skilful disciple of ^Esculapius in Rome, who had 
brought with him from Egypt and Greece mys- 
terious secrets of the healing art, and had per- 
formed some wonderful cures — stood near the 


PALMS. 


II 


dying Claudia, appalled to discover that all his 
efforts to save her were powerless: not a pang 
could he relieve, nor curb a single one of the wild 
heart-throbs that tore her breast. Then, just as 
the sun flung his golden flicker through the vines, 
making a tremulous glory over the wall opposite 
the wide-open window, the faint wail of a new- 
born infant was heard ; the dying head, with its 
wealth of silky gold- tinted hair, sank back upon 
the pillows; there was a surcease of agony, and 
the peaceful, august majesty of death diffused a 
wonderful calm over the white face, which but 
a few moments ago was wrung with pain. She 
drew her disordered robe across her bosom, and 
folded her long, beautiful hands upon it; she felt 
that she was dying, and she would pass to the 
shades as became the dignity of a Roman ma- 
tron. 

1 ‘Keep the babe, Zilla; keep it in your heart 
of hearts. Never give it — to the — care of an- 
other,” she whispered; “my faithful Zilla!” 
The words sounded like a caress, and the prom- 
ise was given in a few sentences broken by sobs, 
— a promise which the dying young mother knew 
would be sacredly kept. Then, turning to Nem- 
esius, she said, with a look of love that once 
more kindled the light in her fading eyes, while 
a smile irradiated her countenance: “Nemesius, 
we have loved. Farewell!” That was the last; 
one long, soft sigh, and all was still forever. 

Nemesius clasped the lifeless form in his arms, 


12 


PALMS. 


and, lifting her face to his, called her by all those 
endearing names to which she had ever fondly 
responded ; but when no answer came, and he 
noted the film that already dimmed her beautiful 
eyes, he laid her back on the pillows — she was his 
no longer — and, covering his face with his hands, 
went away to his own private apartments to 
wrestle alone with his grief, a grief without hope, 
for to the sensuous pagans death ended all. It 
was only transfigured to them when it made gods 
and heroes. 

The apotheosis of men who perished crowned 
with glory and renown was a divine triumph 
over death, the renewal of a life that bestowed 
immortality and throned them among the gods. 
It satisfied the proudest ambition of the living to 
be able to offer divine honors to deceased kin- 
dred, as it gave them brotherhood with the deities 
they worshiped; otherwise the thought of death 
was one of such inexpressible horror that in 
speaking of their departed they said “he has 
lived,” and not that he had died. 

In a few moments, as if whispered by the air, 
the sorrowing slaves learned that the gentle and 
noble wife of Nemesius had ceased to breathe; 
that she wdio had protected them from the some- 
times oppressive and cruel exactions of their 
task-masters, and had ever been generous and 
considerate of them, was no more. Then the 
pent-up emotions of their warm southern hearts 
burst forth in wails of sorrow; they thought only 


PALMS. 


13 


of their own loss, forgetful of him whose loss 
was far greater, and whose grief was more sacred 
than theirs; whether their cries would annoy or 
distress^ him did not enter their minds, until the 
old steward Symphronius, himself nearly dis- 
tracted, drove them out of hearing, and enforced 
silence on those whose duties required them to 
remain. 

And now, while the short twilight deepened 
into the purple star-spangled night, the silence 
of the beautiful gardens, one hour ago steeped 
in golden sunshine, was broken ; low sounds of 
weeping and plaintive cries of lament echoed 
through the shadowy alleys, as the sorrowing 
slaves fled to the more distant recesses and grot- 
toes, where they might vent their grief unmo- 
lested. 

The days passed on, and Nemesius, stern and 
silent in his grief, asked no question about his 
child. The steward Symphronius, who had 
been his faithful servitor since his earliest recol- 
lection, was the only one of the household ad- 
mitted to his presence, and he understood 
without words that silence on his part was ex- 
pected. The family notary was summoned two 
or three times to receive instructions relating to 
the obsequies, which Nemesius delivered in brief 
terms, then dismissed him. 

Zilla waited day after day, hoping to be sum- 
moned to her master’s presence; but he made no 
sign, and, girding up her courage, she deter- 


T 4 


PALMS. 


mined to go to him unbidden, having upon her 
mind something which caused her great anxiety 
about her infant charge, toward whom her heart 
went out with tenderest love and pity. The 
apathy and neglect of Nemesius hurt and exas- 
perated her; but, reasoning like a woman, she 
thought if he could hear the cause of her 
anxiety, it would not only remind him of the 
existence of his offspring, but arouse the natural 
instincts of affection toward it; this accom- 
plished, she felt sure that he would soon recog- 
nize it as a living link between himself and her 
who was beyond recall, by which a new happi- 
ness would be awakened that would soften the 
asperity of his sorrow, and at last bring consola- 
tion to his despairing heart. 

Alas for Zilla’ s sanguine hopes ! Symphronius 
had in vain tried to dissuade her from seeking 
an interview with his master; he swore by all 
the infernal gods that she would peril her life, 
and deserve to lose it if she persisted, to which 
she quietly and firmly replied: “When Neme- 
sius hears what I have to tell him he will pardon 
the intrusion. He is a noble gentleman, and I 
can not believe that he has been transformed to 
a fury. His own child, too — you forget, Sym- 
phronius!” She brushed by him as he stood in 
the doorway of the antechamber, and, having 
passed through several darkened rooms, she at 
last found her master in the smallest one at the 
end of the suite. He saw her as she entered and 


PAIyMS. 


15 


stood before him, her head bowed, her hands 
crossed upon her breast; the sight of her recalled 
in all its vividness that sad scene when Claudia 
breathed her last, and his face grew white and 
more rigid. 

“What brings thee here unbidden? ” he 
asked, in low, hoarse tones. 

She began to explain, but at the very first in- 
timation of her errand, he seemed to be seized 
with a transport of fury. He told her that he 
would hear nothing of the child, and wished 
never to see it; he had hoped that it had perished, 
for it had cost the life of the only being on earth 
that he loved. Then he ordered her from his 
presence. 

Zilla, who had the hot blood of the South in 
her veins, felt it going with a wild rush to her 
head ; her eyes flashed, and her heart beat madly, 
while words of hot indignation rose to her tongue, 
which might have cost her dear had she uttered 
them. But, remembering her promise to her dy- 
ing mistress, and seeing from his thin, haggard 
face and bloodshot eyes, what havoc grief had 
made in Nemesius, she held her peace, and, bow- 
ing her head, again crossed her hands on her 
bosom, and left his presence, thinking: “It is 
only time that can do it ; but oh how bitterly will 
he grieve for not having listened to me to-day ! ’ ’ 

“It is best to try for one’s self once ; the next 
time one listens to advice,” said Symphronius — 
who had heard all that passed — as Zilla went by. 


i6 


PAIyMS. 


If she had raised her eyes, she would have dis- 
covered an expression in the old steward’s yellow 
face which meant : “You got no more than you 
deserved for your wilfulness. ’ ’ But she did not 
look up, so he missed his little triumph. 

After the pompous funeral rites, in which noth- 
ing was spared to make them magnificent, Neme- 
sius sought an interview with the Emperor, and 
asked to be appointed to service in Gaul, where 
the imperial eagles were advancing to fresh con- 
quests. His request was granted with reluctance, 
for the Emperor disliked detaching him from ser- 
vice in Rome, which frequently brought the 
brave young captain in personal relation with 
himself. As true as steel in his loyalty in those 
days when treachery and conspiracies were com- 
mon, faithful and brave in his service, unques- 
tioning in his obedience and fidelity, a noble, 
soldierly-looking, handsome man, Nemesius, 
unaware of the fact, had frequently attracted the 
Emperor’s favorable notice, who held him in 
mind to carry out certain designs in and about 
Rome, which were not yet ripe. But there was 
no excuse explainable for denying the favor, and 
after some delay, Nemesius was told that he 
might make his preparations to leave for the dis- 
tant scene of warfare, — a permission which he 
received with a savage sensation of joy, that gave 
buoyancy to his step, and brought a strange, 
fierce light into his eye. He sped him away to 
his notary, to whom he gave directions relating 


PALMS. 


*7 


to the household on the Aventine ; he drew up 
his will in brief, plain terms, and waited until 
all the legal formula to make it valid was fin- 
ished, then arose to go. ‘ ‘ Remember, the Greek 
slave, Zilla, is to keep unconditional care of the 
child ; she must not be interfered with. Supply 
them generously. Tell Symphronius to remain 
faithful — he has never been otherwise — for I trust 
and confide in him. Repeat these, my last words, 
and give him farewell ; for I know he will be 
sorely grieved by my going away without seeing 
him. ’ ’ These were his last words. 

The next day Nemesius rode out of Rome at 
the head of his legion — the Emperor had pro- 
moted him at the last moment — rode away, de- 
termined to court death in the front of battle, in 
desperate charges, in perilous attacks, and at 
fearful odds. He carried out his intentions until 
nearly a lustncm of desperate warfare had passed, 
in which he performed prodigies of valor, and 
won glorious victories out of the very jaws of de- 
feat ; but death eluded him, while fame attended 
all his achievements. His soldiers whispered 
that he bore a charmed life, that he wore sus- 
pended from his neck a magical amulet of great 
virtue, prepared by the augurs with mysterious 
rites in the Temple of Mars ; but — had they 
known ! — it was only a soft tress of gold-burn- 
ished hair framed in crystal and encased in silk, 
the only figment left to him of all the loveli- 
ness he had lost. 


i8 


PAX,MS. 


The work he came to Gaul to aid being accom- 
plished, Nemesius was ordered to Greece, where 
revolts were taking place against the Roman 
rule ; there was to be no delay, the dispatches 
said. His commands were quickly given, and 
by sunrise he, at the head of his broken legion, 
was on the march southward. “There, there,” 
he thought, “the waves of Acheron will not fly 
my feet ; there, the infernal gods being propi- 
tious, I may find what I vainly sought in bar- 
baric Gaul.” 


PALMS. 


19 


CHAPTER II. 

A SURPRISE — THE VILLA TO BE CLOSED — THE 
VOICE OF THE GODS. 

One day a low, broad-wheeled wagon, loaded 
with cypress-wood boxes of variorft lengths, and 
drawn by six bullocks, entered the avenue of the 
Villa Nemesius ; it was guarded by two Dacian 
soldiers — gigantic fellows, from the forests of the 
Danube — who, as they dashed the sweat from 
their faces with their huge hands, swore vigor- 
ously in their native tongue at the hot sun, and the 
rocky ascent up which they had been obliged to 
toil. Their rage increased the rasping discord- 
ance of their barbarous speech to such a pitch that 
the echoes were roused, and the frightened birds 
overhead flew wildly from bough to bough, not 
knowing what portents were in the air. The 
driver — a Roman peasant — grinned with impun- 
ity, being in advance of them, otherwise he would 
have been in danger of broken bones, or worse. 
The dense shade cast by the trees refreshed men 
and beasts, and, as the avenue was nearly level, 
the angry complaints of the Dacians subsided 
into low growls, and the driver let# his beasts 
follow their instincts, and advance more slowly. 

Symphronius the steward was just preparing 


20 


PALMS. 


for his siesta when the sound of wheels grinding 
the gravel, mingled with loud, angry voices, dis- 
turbed the drowsy stillness. He went out, ruf- 
fled by the interruption, and the spectacle that 
greeted his eyes did not tend to sweeten his tem- 
per ; he was sure that only a stupid mistake could 
have brought such a cavalcade inside the gates, 
and, while he stood bottling his wrath until the 
driver approached within speaking distance, 
breathed vengeance against the porter for giving 
it admission. Presently the wagon halted abreast 
of where he stood, and he demanded to know, 
“in the name of all the Cyclops and Furies, by 
what right and by whose orders the driver had 
brought his rubbish, and savages, and beasts, to 
tear up the gravel, and trample down everything 
in their way?” 

1 ‘ I had my orders, ’ ’ replied the driver sullenly, 

‘ ‘ from one who has the best right to give them, 
to bring these boxes here, and to say they are to 
be carefully placed under three ilex trees that 
stand somewhere near a fountain ; and I was told 
that thou wouldst know the exact spot — that is, 
if thou art Symphronius, the steward. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Orders, by Fidius ! And whose, may I ask?’ ’ 
he answered, severe sarcasm in every tone. ‘ ‘ The 
Furies fly away with thy rubbish, and the evil 
eye light upon thee and thy cattle, and barbar- 
ians ! It’ % not to be believed that I’ll allow a 
place as beautiful as the Elysian fields to be cut 
up and trampled down for thy say so. Orders ! ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


21 


“I had my orders from the great General Ne- 
mesius, just home from the foreign wars,” was 
the reply. ‘ ‘ Hast thou been sleeping like a mole 
in the ground, to have heard nothing of the hon- 
ors the Senate paid him at the Capitol, and he 
there by the side of the Emperor, and all Rome 
looking on ? ” Symplironius was too astonished to 
interrupt the speaker, who went on : “ This rub- 
bish” — nodding his head toward the cypress-wood 
boxes on the wagon — “this rubbish, as*it pleased 
thee to call it, is some of the spoils he brought 
from Greece, where he has been fighting for a 
year. He told me they were statues and the like, 
and to deliver them carefully, or my life should 
pay for it ; and he sent these great fellows — two 
of his own soldiers — to unload them. And, 
moreover, as I am answerable for their safety 
with my life — which I’m not anxious to lose — I 
mean to obey his orders.” 

The breath of Symphronius was nearly gone 
by the time the man ceased speaking. Neme- 
sius back, and in Rome, and he knowing nothing 
of it ! Was this the way to requite his l-ife-long 
faithful services ? To come home after five years’ 
absence, and leave him to hear of his arrival in 
this sort ! But he would show no surprise ; this 
lout and those savages should not even suspect 
how he had been slighted. 

“Good fellow! ” said he, “I meant only to test 
thee. There’s no telling what tricks those pes- 
tiferous Christians might try to play on an un- 


22 


PALMS. 


protected household, if all’s true that one hears 
of them. My life’s a burden to me, having 
charge of such responsibilities as the noble Ne- 
mesius left on my poor shoulders, and I suspect 
all strangers until they can give a good account 
of themselves. Certainly I knew that my brave 
master was back. Did he not bid me come and 
witness the honors he received? — and well-de- 
served say I! And wasn’t I the proudest man 
in Rome that day ? And who had a better right, 
for I carried him in my arms before he could 
walk, and have been his faithful slave ever since ! 
Come now, let the bullocks and those giants rest 
in the shade : there’s no haste about unloading ; 
and do thou repose on the grass while I fetch out 
some wine and wheaten bread for thy refresh- 
ment.” 

Almost bursting with the news, which, it is 
needless to say, he now heard for the first time, 
Symphronius did not deign to notice the inquir- 
ing looks that met him on his way to the wine- 
vaults, as some of the servants pressed forward 
full of curiosity as to the cause of the unwonted 
commotion without. To tell what he knew was 
something he must enjoy at his leisure, and in 
his own pompous way he would impress them 
with the belief that he alone of all the household 
had been honored with a special message from 
his master. 

The thirsty men drained the amphora of wine 
that Symphronius set before them, and devoured 


PALMS. 


23 


the white bread to the last crumb ; their good- 
humor was restored, and, after giving the bul- 
locks generous draughts of water, they went 
away, guided by the steward, to the spot desig- 
nated under the three ilex trees, to complete the 
task for which they had come. 

Under the zealous directions of the old stew- 
ard, instant preparations were made for Neme- 
sius’ reception; for it was not doubted that he 
would come to the villa at the very earliest oppor- 
tunity, and it might be at an unexpected moment; 
so it behooved them not to be caught napping. 
The long-closed and darkened rooms were thrown 
open to the sunshine and air; the precious mo- 
saics, the treasures of lapis lazuli, priceless Etru- 
rian vases, the marble Antigone, the ivory 
Graces, draperies from Persia inwrought with 
gold, chairs and couches of ebony inlaid with 
silver in patterns of intricate design, besides 
many other things rich and rare, were unveiled, 
and the film of fine gray dust that five years had 
filtered over them, obscuring their beauty, was 
patiently and carefully removed, and the steel 
mirrors polished until every object in the spacious 
apartments was reflected on their flawless sur- 
face. Fresh flowers once more garnished every 
available spot; garlands wreathed the alabaster 
pillars, and the statutes were again crowned with 
the flowers sacred to the deities they represented. 
A hum of cheerful voices, rippling sounds of 
laughter, and subdued snatches of song, were 


24 


PALMS. 


heard on every side from the busy workers, 
which expressed the full joy of their hearts, al- 
ready reveling in anticipation of festas and ban- 
quets without end ; for how could it be otherwise, 
since Nemesius, the great captain, their lord and 
and master, would once more inhabit his villa on 
the Aventine? 

And so the pleasure-loving, light-hearted do- 
mestic slaves at the villa looked for their mas- 
ter’s arrival as to a period which would put an 
end to the dull constraint of their lives — all ex- 
cept Zilla, on whose heart their gayety smote 
with something akin to pain. “Will he come,” 
she asked herself — remembering her last inter- 
view with him a lustrum ago — “where every 
object, this child most of all, will recall bitter 
memories of his loss ? And, should he come, will 
he bear to listen to what I have to tell him? 
Oh, my forsaken lamb ! how cruel have the 
Fates been to thee, leaving only a poor slave to 
love and cherish thee ! ’ ’ Then a burst of tears 
relieved her faithful heart. 

Notwithstanding her doubts, which she wisely 
kept to herself, she arrayed little Claudia every 
day in daintiest attire, and carefully arranged 
her long, loose ringlets under a narrow, jewelled 
fillet, so that they fell over her dimpled white 
shoulders like a mass of spun gold, thinking if 
he should come at an unexpected moment he 
would see her at her best, and be struck by her 
resemblance to her dead mother; for the same 


PALMS. 


25 


hair, the same dimpled chin, the same pretty, 
graceful way of moving her head, the same win- 
ning expression, lived again in the child’s ap- 
pearance, manner, and countenance. She bore 
her mother’s name, no instructions having been 
given as to what she should be called ; in fact, 
she was, apparently, as if dead to her father, and 
would have been nameless had not her nurse 
taken it on herself to call her Claudia. 

Not only this, but when the little creature be- 
gan to understand, the good Zilla told her of her 
brave father, who was in foreign lands fighting 
for the glory of Rome ; she told her how hand- 
some and noble he was, and how tender a nature 
he had toward those he loved, and how distin- 
guished and honored he was by the Emperor 
and the Senate, and how idolized by the army. 
All this was imparted, little by little, to the 
child as her intelligence developed, until her 
heart began to long for him, and in her dreams 
she heard his voice speaking tender, loving 
words to her, and felt his arms about her, while 
she reposed her head on his breast. And she 
would relate her dreams to Zilla as soon as she 
awoke, and prattle gayly of how she would lead 
him out to listen to the finches and nightingales, 
and show him the cascade where the naiads 
sported, and the grottoes where the fauns hid 
from the heat of the sun. And the woman lis- 
tened, agreeing to all she said, and not sparing 
her caresses. “He shall find that she loves him, 


26 


PALMS. 


the child he has never seen, and cast off, giving 
himself no trouble to know whether she be liv- 
ing or dead — a child that the gods themselves 
might be proud of, and so beautiful that I won- 
der sometimes if she is mortal. Now, that he 
has got back from the foreign wars, we’ll see 
what he will do. I have told her he’s in Rome, 
and if he makes no sign, may the infernal gods 
wreak vengeance on his unnatural heart ! ’ ’ were 
the thoughts that passed through Zilla’s mind. 

But day after day passed, and Nemesius did 
not appear, and at last a message came from 
him to Symphronius to close the villa as before, 
an order which was obeyed with low grumblings 
of discontent and sobs of disappointment from 
the servants, whose bright dreams were so rudely 
dispelled. Zilla could not find heart to tell the 
expectant child the sad news, but made up the 
most plausible excuses to explain the cause of 
her disappointment, every word of which the 
little creature believed. 

“He’ll be here to-day, I know,” Claudia said 
every morning when she woke ; then in the even- 
ing: “He’ll be sure to come to-morrow, won’t 
he?” 

“Yes, my child, to-morrow,” Zilla would an- 
swer, with a tender caress, while in her heart she 
whispered: “it takes long to find to-morrow!” 

By and by the flush of hope and expectation 
began to fade out of the little maid’s face ; a new 
and nameless sensation in her breast, that she 


PALMS. 


27 


could not define, but which meant grief all the 
same, caused her to droop, and her sweet nature 
became ruffled by the first fretfulness she had 
ever known. Sometimes Zilla diverted her mind 
by telling her fables of her own sunny Southern 
land ; sometimes they went to the dove-cotes to 
feed the doves, whose cooing and fluttering 
amused the child, as one and another lit upon 
her shoulders, her head, or her outstretched 
hand, fanning her with their soft white wings, 
as she sprinkled grain for them ; then another 
day to the cascade, anywhere, everywhere, to di- 
vert her thoughts from the* hope which was so 
long deferred that it made her heart-sick. 

A day came, however, when the pretexts of 
the devoted slave availed no longer; for the little 
Claudia, with an upflash of the proud Roman 
spirit that was in her, ordered her to take her to 
Rome. “I will o!” she said, with imperative 
gesture; “if he can not come to me, I will be 
taken to him. If thou wilt not, I’ll kill myself! ” 

“Oh, my little lady!” said Zilla, taken by sur- 
prise, yet on guard, “he is not there; the Em- 
peror has sent him off with his legions to quell 
some revolt. The news reached me only to-day, 
and I feared to give thee pain by telling thee.” 
It was a plain, unvarnished lie, but Zilla, pagan 
that she Was, would have given her life to save a 
single tear to this, the only thing left her on 
earth to love. It was a dogma of paganism that 
the end sanctified the means. 


28 


PALMS. 


“When he gets back wilt thou take me to him, 
if the Emperor can’t spare him long enough to 
come here? Oh, I know the Emperor would let 
him come, if he only knew he had a poor little 
girl here whom he has never seen! Wilt thou 
promise to take me, Zilla?” she sobbed. 

“Yes, my beautiful one! I promise,” the nurse 
replied, as she drew her gently to her breast, 
smoothing the golden hair, and dropping soft 
kisses and tears on her head. ‘ ‘ If the Emperor 
can spare him, I know he will be here; if he 
can’t, I promise to take thee to him.” 

That was a hit nearer the truth than Zilla 
knew when she uttered the chance words, “If 
the Emperor can spare him for it was Valer- 
ian’s pleasure to have him in constant attendance 
upon himself, not only in his coarse amusements 
and his debaucheries, which the fi-ner nature of 
Nemesius despised, but in all his deliberations and 
secret matters, in which he confided to his fav- 
orite the intelligence brought by spies of threat- 
ened conspiracies and other evils that menaced 
the imperial power. There was no mercy, and 
but short shrift, for conspirators or suspected 
traitors in those days; even the completest inno- 
cence was no safeguard, if it formed an obstacle 
to the attainment of an object coveted by those 
in power. What had imperial Rome to fear? 
Was she not mistress of the world? As for for- 
eign foes, was not her power sufficient to lay them 
in the dust? And, as far as her sword could 
reach, she had nothing to dread. 


PALMS. 


29 


But there was a mysterious agency, which had 
been at work ever since the reign of Tiberius 
Caesar, that threatened the downfall and destruc- 
tion of her vaunted indivisible power. Even be- 
fore the Caesars, the Sybils had foretold it ; and 
the mysterious words of oracles and augurs, and 
certain wonderful signs, had left an undertone of 
dread in all her paeans of triumph, which neither 
violence nor time could silence, — a dread not of 
destruction by the sword, but by a supreme 
system of sorcery and magic wrought by the 
Nazarene, Christus of Judea, who, having claimed 
to be a God, was ignominiously executed on the 
Cross by order of the Roman Procurator Pontius 
Pilate ; but, having by His own power raised 
Himself from the dead, was with His followers 
seeking to establish His reign upon earth. It was 
whispered that the gods would fall before Him ; 
and for a sign, did not His followers despise, de- 
ride and insult them? .They had been, since the 
first existence of their sect, vile plotters and con- 
spirators against the Roman Empire and its di- 
vinities, and neither fire, sword, the wild beasts 
in the arena, torture, nor death under its most 
cruel aspects, had availed to extirpate them ; for 
where one was slaughtered, a hundred seemed to 
spring out of the earth to take his place. Neither 
could they be induced at any time, by promises 
of honors, riches, life, and safety, to cast even a 
grain of incense into the censers in honor of the 
gods. Under the Caesars, under the Republic, 


3 ° 


PALMS. 


under the emperors from Tiberius to Valerian, 
the earth had smoked with their blood ; heca- 
tombs of the accursed class had been slaughtered; 
but still they were like the sands of the sea, and 
they continued to practise their unholy rites in 
secret, worshipping an ass’s head, and sacrificing 
young infants on their altars, while they blas- 
phemed the gods of Rome and their august wor- 
ship. 

That is how the “heathen raged,” and what 
they believed ; it was the way they had talked 
and believed ever since the Son of God had died 
upon the Cross for the salvation of the world ; 
and when the proud Roman saw how his power 
was baffled and set at naught by them — that there 
was something deathless in their faith and pur- 
pose — that they won adherents on every side, and 
instead of perishing flourished, and like eagles 
renewed their strength under those fierce perse- 
cutions, when every cruel invention of torture 
and death, that the devilish ingenuity of the 
pagan mind could devise was brought into play 
for their extermination — is it strange he should 
have believed that the Christians dealt in sorcery, 
and had aid from the spirits of Tartarus to under- 
mine the tremendous system founded by Numa, 
and disintegrate and bring to nothingness that 
proud and august Empire established by the 
Caesars, and increasing in power under the em- 
perors, in order to elevate to the imperial throne 
that “King of the Jews,” whose kingdom, they 


PALMS. 


31 


boasted, should extend over the whole earth? 
And that which was most intolerant and exas- 
perating to the jealous, arrogant Roman mind, 
was the sense of being almost as much eluded 
and baffled by those whom they sought to de- 
stroy, as if they contended with phantoms. 

There was sometimes a surcease of persecution 
against the Christians, as when by chance a good 
emperor — too good for his times, and therefore 
short-lived — was elevated to the purple ; or when 
rival emperors were busy killing one another, 
each trying to win senate and army to his own 
side ; or when foreign wars pressed closely upon 
their borders, requiring quick and active measures 
to rout and destroy the audacious foe ; in inter- 
vals like these the suffering Church had brief 
quiet. It can not be said that the persecutions 
ever entirely ceased, for sometimes while their 
fury relaxed in one quarter it raged in another ; 
but the tree of life still flourished in deathless 
vigor, bearing countless palms for those who bore 
witness with their blood for Christ. 

There had been one of those brief intervals of 
relief in Rome, and it was hoped that the new 
Emperor, flushed with victory, and but recently 
elevated to the imperial throne, would not sully 
his triumphs by renewing the persecution of the 
Christians, among whom were numbers of his 
most loyal and faithful servants, who — their faith 
unknown to him — in the council-chamber, the 
field, and the executive departments of his Gov- 


32 


PALMS. 


eminent, had rendered him signal and true ser- 
vice. For a while the triumphs and other splendid 
pageantries amused the public mind; but the 
gladiatorial contests were now over, people 
wearied of chariot-races and sham battles in the 
Colosseum. The shows, where wild beasts of 
the desert were pitted against human wild beasts 
still more ferocious in the arena, and fought until 
they rent each other to pieces ; the tragedies, the 
plays and other public amusements, no longer 
excited interest : the people were longing for 
something more exhilarating ; while the thous- 
ands of soldiers just back from the foreign wars, 
who now lay encamped without the city — hun- 
dreds of whom represented the barbaric peoples 
that had been subjugated by the Roman eagles — 
began to murmur and growl, no longer disposed 
to tolerate anything that did not stir their blood- 
thirsty and cruel instincts, to gratify which, for 
want of something better, they began to kill one 
another in fierce quarrels and brawls. This was 
a serious matter, which, once started, there was 
no telling where or how it might end ; for their 
captains, who knew them and their ways, espe- 
cially in seasons of inactivity, felt assured that 
while they might be momentarily awed into sub- 
ordination by having their ringleaders bow- 
strung, or otherwise killed, their rage would 
only smoulder, and at last break out with more 
desperate violence. It was evident that a remedy 
for this state of affairs was needed ; for her army 


PALMS. 


33 


was the one power that Rome deferred to, know- 
ing how quickly, in certain moods, it sometimes 
made and unmade emperors. 

A grand review by the Emperor in person was 
proclaimed ; this was followed by a sham battle, 
which, in some instances, was not altogether 
sham, the opportunity to draw blood being too 
good a one to be lost ; after this, a competition in 
athletic exercises for prizes, and trials of skill 
with the bow, foot-races by the soldiers, and 
other rude diversions, amused the barbarian host, 
and, so long as they continued, served as means 
toward the desired result; besides which the 
Roman populace, always devoted to spectacular 
displays, was also kept out of mischief by its 
eagerness to witness and participate in all that 
was going on, as far as it might. 

While these rude amusements were in progress, 
tidings of fresh plots and conspiracies, and of 
strange portents, were brought secretly to the 
ears of Valerian by the Pontifices — those priests 
who judged all causes relating to their false re- 
ligion, regulated the feasts and all the other 
sacred institutions of their system. The harus- 
pices, augurs, and magicians, each came in 
turn : the one to tell of omens discovered while 
preparing the sacrifices, the other of dreams and 
wonderful apparitions, the last with revelations 
of the future, — all prophesying the downfall of 
the Empire and its gods, unless renewed and 
more vigorous measures should be at once taken 


34 


PALMS. 


to exterminate the Christians, who were alone 
the cause of the threatened disasters and ruin. 
These were followed by the Pontifex Maximus 
himself, to whom all other priests were subject, 
a man of great authority and dignity, who gravely 
and impressively warned the Emperor that the 
gods themselves had spoken, and, in signs and 
terms not to be withstood, called upon him to 
crush their enemies. 

The Christians of Rome were being steadily 
persecuted all the time, although not so violently 
or cruelly just then as in the near past. Many 
of them languished in the dungeons of the 
Mamertine, where they had been cast on false 
charges ; daily some were driven to labor in the 
quarries, others to be chained to the oar in the 
galleys, while still others were secretly tortured 
to death, and their possessions confiscated; but 
this was not enough: more rigorous measures 
were called for — they must be destroyed. But 
where should the first blow fall ? was the ques- 
tion. Their dangerous doctrines were not con- 
fined to slaves or the rabble: there was no place 
so elevated, no family so noble or powerful, no 
office so high, that Christians were not found in 
or connected with it; the army swarmed with 
them : it was not a rare thing to find a legion or 
a cohort composed entirely of them ; and it was 
admitted that none fought more bravely for Rome 
than they. They were found in the Temple of 
Justice, in the Forum — lawyers of great note — 


PALMS. 


35 


and the senate itself was contaminated by their 
presence. No wonder the “heathen raged,” for 
they had cause to tremble. 

And now, to add fuel to the flame, news 
reached Valerian from Asia that a revolt insti- 
gated by the Christians had taken place in one 
of the richest of his recently-acquired provinces, 
and that an important citadel in another place, 
just on the frontier, had been betrayed to the 
enemy by certain of that hated sect who belonged 
to the garrison, and were at once put to death by 
order of the Governor, he having issued a decree 
that no Christian in the province be allowed to 
escape torture and such death as the enemies of 
the gods and Rome deserved. 

One who lived in troubled times like these 
wrote: “When the Tiber overflows its banks, 
when there’s pestilence, war or famine, the cry 
is heard: ‘Away to the lions with the Chris- 
tians ! ’ ” * As then, so now. The superstitious 
fears of Valerian, the late news from Asia, and 
the devil that possessed him, worked him up to 
the necessary degree of rage to issue a fresh edict 
of persecution against the Christians. No longer 
would the hot-blooded populace of Rome and the 
half-mutinous army clamor for excitements such 
as their brutal natures craved and hungered 
for: a feast of blood was in preparation that 
would satisfy them ; and a hoarse murmur filled the 
air, that sounded like the surf beating against a 


*Tertullian. 


PALMS. 


36 

rock-bound coast, and already the terrible words, 
“The Christians to the lions! ” could be distin- 
guished mingling with the tumultuous sounds. 

It was understood that no mercy was to be 
shown in this fierce renewal of the persecution, 
which, according to their proud boast, would 
only end when Christianity should be extermi-, 
nated. The time had again come when th^v 
Church would find her only earthly refuge in the 
catacombs, — when the wheat of God would be 
ground between the teeth of savage beasts, and 
His vineyards be soaked with blood. 

In the sacred precincts of the very temples — 
so it was decreed — should the contumacious 
wretches expiate their crime against the gods; 
there should they honor them, or perish by tor- 
tures equal to their guilt. Especially would the 
Temple of Mars Gradivus, on the Appian Way, 
be made the theatre of these spectacles of blood. 
Dedicated to Mars, its roof was supported by a 
hundred marble columns, and it was surrounded 
by palm-trees planted years before by order of 
the senate, in recognition that all the victories 
of the Roman arms were derived from that 
august deity. It was here the ambassadors of 
hostile nations were received by the Senate in 
pompous state; here also were held those splen- 
did pageants, when the priests in the glittering 
vestments of their various orders, and the people 
in holiday attire, bearing branches and garlands, 
and chanting paeans, would celebrate with pagan 


PALMS. 


37 


and idolatrous rites new conquests and triumphs. 
And now that Rome meant to exterminate her 
most dangerous foes, they would offer hecatombs 
to their god of victories, to propitiate his favor 
for final success. And so they planned immortal 
victories — not for themselves or their gods, as 
they thought — but for Christ. 

It is not necessary to refer more particularly 
to this fresh persecution under Valerian, except 
in so far as it affects those whose touching story 
is here related, and whose acts and words are 
taken from the reports of judicial proceedings, — 
it being obligatory by the Roman law for the 
officials of the courts to keep minutes of all that 
passed before the tribunal; and it is from these 
reports, the written testimony of the pagans 
themselves, that the Christians, in more quiet 
times, either by favor or bribery, copied many 
of the thrilling accounts of the martys which 
have been handed down to us. 

Nemesius was a man of noble nature, and of 
principles so elevated that not even the wide 
license allowed by the pagan religion and laws 
tended to corrupt them. As the favorite of Vale- 
rian, he was often obliged to witness, and seemed 
to condone by his presence, much that he loathed 
as degrading to a true manhood; while the un- 
forgotten sorrow of his life, and the dreadful 
conflicts of war in which he had been engaged 
ever since it befell him, had not only made him 
introspective and grave, but had closed his heart 


PALMS. 


38 

to all softer impressions. Love and beauty bad 
no power to beguile him, and if sometimes a 
dream or a strange impulse turned his thoughts 
to his motherless child at the villa on the Aven- 
tine, he sought by every means to banish all 
further memory of it. Life held no charm for 
him, no incentive except the honor and glory of 
Rome. He welcomed the new edict of persecu- 
tion as presenting an opportunity for his zeal, 
and he was assigned an important part in the 
terrible scenes about to open; his courage, his 
devotion to the gods, and his loyalty to the im- 
perial person, making him safe to trust in the 
execution of the most secret and important 
plans. What were the Christians to him but ‘ ‘ a 
crew of conspirators lurking in the dark,” to 
hatch treason and evil to Rome? He thought 
there might be some excuse in their ignorance 
for plebeians and slaves to be affected by the 
sorceries of the pestiferous innovators who sought 
to overthrow the old established order of things, 
but none for those — and there were many — whose 
rank, patrician blood, and education should have 
prevented their insulting the gods by denying 
their divinity. Both classes deserved death; but 
the latter, he thought, should be made a warn- 
ing and example by the infliction of severer tor- 
tures, and deaths of more supreme suffering. 
And yet Nemesius was not a cruel man: he was 
only a true pagan, and a soldier whose motto was, 
‘ ‘ The sharper the fight the sooner the victory. ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


39 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SURPRISE. 

“Listen, my sweet one, to the cascade!” said 
Zilla. “ It is fluttering down over the rocks like 
a tattered rainbow, chattering with the finches, 
and doing its best to catch them as they flirt 
their wings in the spray, and dart off with wild 
trills that sound like derisive laughter. Even 
the marble naiad seems merry as the sunshine 
glistens through the water that is dashing over 
her; she looks as if she’d like to step out and 
dance! Oh, it is very beautiful, my child! And, 
then, the smell of the new roses brought from a 
far Eastern land! they are just blooming, and 
the air is full of their fragrance. So rise up 
now, pretty one; don’t lie there, with thy face 
hidden in the grass, saying no word, when even 
the butterflies would sing if they could.” 

The two were once more together in the 
child’s favorite haunt, near the cascade, in the 
beautiful gardens of the villa on the Aventine; 
but the little one, silent and drooping, no longer 
responded to the gladdening influences of the 
spot. In vain Zilla’ s entreaty ; she made no 
sign, uttered no word. She had thrown herself 
upon the grass, her forehead resting on one of 


40 


PALMS. 


her arms, while, with the other extended, her 
fingers listlessly toyed with a wild hyacinth they 
happened to touch. Her fleecy, shining curls 
strayed loosely over her shoulders, some of their 
long tendrils coiled like shredded gold among 
the fragrant grasses. Her tunic, of white Per- 
sian muslin shot with silver, falling in diaphan- 
ous folds around her, was gently stirred now and 
then by a passing zephyr, but she herself re- 
mained motionless and silent. 

“Perhaps,” thought Zilla, “she is slumber- 
ing. The day is so delicious, the air so languor- 
ous with sweet odors, and the sunshine falls so 
warm out of the blue skies, what wonder if she 
should have dropped asleep?” 

But she was not asleep, and Zilla could not 
see the warm tears that moistened like precious 
dews the wild violets against which her face was 
pressed; whatever it was that held her so silent, 
she would not disturb it, but wait. While 
watching, with eyes full of yearning love, the 
recumbent form, a look of deep trouble clouded 
Zilla’ s face. “She is slipping away from me,” 
she murmured; “I no longer satisfy her; she is 
pining for other love than mine, a love coldly 
withheld, while mine has been lavished. My 
little lady,” she whispered softly, unable to re- 
strain herself any longer, “art thou awake? 
Ah! why refuse to speak to thy poor Zilla, who 
loves thee so?” 

The bright head moved; there was a sound, 


PALMS. 


41 


half sigh, half sob; the hand toying with the 
wild hyacinth was held up, seized and kissed by 
the woman. 

“Now, dearest one,” she said, placing her 
arm tenderly under the child, lifting her gently 
until she rested against her bosom ; then she saw, 
with a sharp pang, that she had been weeping. 
But Zilla seemed not to notice; she only 
smoothed back the golden tangles from her 
forehead, and turned herself slightly, so that a 
current of fresh air drifting by fanned and re- 
freshed the hot, flushed face; then, still without 
a word, she kissed away very gently the traces 
left by tears upon it; but her heart was not so 
calm as her outward - seeming: it was burning 
with the fury of a Pythoness, and cried out in 
voiceless words: “May Nemesis speedily over- 
take him who would cause tears to a child like 
this!” 

Then, after a space, the air like golden fra- 
grant wine, the low whisper of leaves, the soft 
plash of fountains, the mellow fluting of the 
thrushes among the mulberry trees on the hill- 
side, and the clear, wild trills of the goldfinches 
in the limes, fell like balms on both troubled 
hearts, soothing those discordant emotions, 
which under Roman skies are never of long con- 
tinuance, until both woman and child were pos- 
sessed by an indefinable passive sensation, that 
made the sense of existence delicious, and ban- 
ished the sorrow and passion which so recently 
disturbed them. 


42 


PALMS. 


“Now, my child,” began Zilla, “we will go 
and sit under the ilex trees near the Fountain of 
Diana, and I will tell thee how once the naiads 
caught a young satyr, and tried to pull him into 
the stream. ’ ’ 

“No! no! I don’t want to hear stupid stories 
like that!” answered the child, as they walked 
along a verdant alley. 

“Then I’ll tell thee about the great festa I 
once saw, when the priests of the temples, with 
music and banners, and a great multitude in gay 
attire, all singing, carried the statue of Cybele 
from her sanctuary, to bathe it in the Fountain 
of Egeria. Oh! it was a grand spectacle!” 

“I don’t want to hear about it!” interrupted 
the child, in quiet tones. 

“Well, then, here we are, and here too are 
those cypress-wood boxes that were brought 
weeks ago.” 

‘ ‘ Boxes ! Tell me of them . ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, they are only some rough boxes that ar- 
rived three weeks ago! I heard Symphronius 
say they contained statues, Grecian statues. It 
may be so: no one has seen them.” 

“Who sent them?” was the next eager ques- 
tion. 

“Thy noble father, dear one.” Ah, now did 
the child’s face glow and brighten! Here at 
least was something that spoke of him, some- 
thing that she could touch and feel. ‘ ‘ Here is 
one, ’ ’ continued Zilla, ‘ ‘ right under the dancing 


PALMS. 43 

shadows of the leaves; we will sit upon it and 
rest. ’ ’ 

Claudia laid her hand with a caressing touch 
on the wood, then, bending down, she kissed the 
rough case, and pressed her cheek upon it. 
“Yes, yes, he will come very soon now, Zilla; 
he will want to know what they have done with 
his boxes; it is very plain that he will have to 
come,” she said, joyously. 

“I think so, my child. It is time,” answered 
Zilla, sighing: “Oh! how brightly the light 
dances on the fountain, while the pomegranate 
flowers scatter their scarlet leaves in the basin, 
where they chase each other like elves at 
play — ’ ’ 

“Zilla, what is light?” interrupted Claudia, 
her wide-open, dreamy eyes gazing blankly 
away into the far distance. 

“Light!” said Zilla, with a start, while her 
face grew very white; “light is the smile of the 
gods, I think.” 

“Dost thou see it? — tell me what it is like, ” 
persisted the child. 

“Ah, my little one! I feel it, I smell it in the 
flowers, taste it in the fruits, hear it in the 
winds, and when the birds sing, even as thou 
dost,” said Zilla, evasively. She had fondly 
hoped that this child, blind from her birth, 
would not discover her misfortune, at least until 
she was old enough to comprehend and make 
the best of it; hence it had been her ever- tender 


44 


PALMS. 


and watchful effort to impress her with the idea 
— not by words — that she was not different from 
others. All the little creature’s other senses 
were so acute, and so faithfully was her depriva- 
tion supplied by every means that Zilla’s deep 
love for her and her intelligent and refined 
mind could suggest; with such untiring vigi- 
lance did she guard her from learning 
even accidentally that she was bl-ind, that 
until this moment she had never given the 
slightest intimation of an awakened conscious- 
ness of the fact that there was in her life a mys- 
tery of mingled shadow and blankness which 
she could not penetrate. Zilla was troubled, and 
sought to turn the child’s thoughts in another 
direction; she was unprepared for the issue now; 
she must think it over, and see how best to meet 
it; she would use every art at her command, 
however, to put off the evil day as long as she 
could. 

“See, dearest, I have brought my lute with 
me; shall I sing the peasants’ vintage song for 
thee? Or shall 1 sing about the fishermen, and 
how they sail out into the blue sea, chaunting 
their gay songs, as their boats skim the waves 
like white birds?” 

“Yes — that. But who knows?” she asked. 

“The poets, who dream of all they tell. Are 
not thy dreams sometimes lovely? So are 
theirs. ’ ’ 

“Yes: I love to dream strange, beautiful 


PALMS. 45 

things. Sing, my mother,” for so the child 
often called her — “sing the poet’s dream.” 

And with light, musical touches, and in tones 
sweetly clear and tender, Zilla played and sang 
her own far-away memories of the beautiful 
ZEgean with its mysterious islands, visited by the 
gods, and where the oracles sometimes declared 
their demoniacal inspirations in the sacred groves. 

Who was Zilla? While she sings, her short 
story may be told, as far as known. Her father 
was nobly bom and rich. He held the heroic 
traditions of his country as sacred, and the blood 
of her old heroes that flowed in his veins was 
like a smouldering fire, ever inciting him to 
wrath and revolt against the Roman conquerors. 
Knowing his powerful influence, the Govern- 
ment of Rome tried to win and conciliate him 
by the offer of high official honors, which he 
spurned ; magnificent bribes and threats followed, 
but he was moved by neither, and he was marked 
as a dangerous subject. At length he incited a 
widespread rebellion against his Roman masters; 
and his plans were so well laid, so thoroughly 
organized and well supplied with warlike imple- 
ments, that it assumed important proportions, to 
quell and subdue which called forth extraordi- 
nary efforts on the part of the Romans, who were 
engaged in several distant wars at the time. 
Finally, after a number of severely contested 
battles, the Greeks were defeated, and their great 
leader, whose name has passed into oblivion, was 


PALMS. 


46 

taken in chains to Rome, and cast into one of 
the horrible subterranean dungeons of Hippoly- 
tus on the Urban Way, from which he was 
shortly dragged to march with other miserable 
captives in a triumph decreed by the Senate to 
the successful general, who, after previous con- 
quests, had subdued the rebellion in Greece. 
Thrown back, after this humiliation, into his 
dungeon, he perished miserably, his last mo- 
ments tortured by the news, imparted with fiend- 
ish malignity, that his wife and child, whom he 
had fondly hoped were in safety among the 
beautiful hills of Thessaly, had been taken cap- 
tive, brought to Rome, and sold into slavery. It 
was true. 

On the day they were offered in the slave-mar- 
ket, the noble matron’s veil and a portion of her 
garments torn from her to expose her beauty to 
buyers, the father-in-law of Nemesius, the Sen- 
ator Serventes Csesius, who happened to be pass- 
ing at the moment, was attracted by the refined 
classic beauty of the unfortunate lady, whom 
sorrow and harsh adversity had not robbed of 
her dignity. He remembered that his wife had 
recently lost her favorite slave, her personal and 
confidential attendant, who had turned out to be 
a Christian, was arrested, tortured, and buried 
while yet alive, for her contumacy in denying 
the gods, and confessing Christ with a constancy 
and courage that kindled to madness the rage of 
her pagan judge. 


PALMS. 


47 


1 ‘ This woman, ’ * thought the Senator, survey- 
ing the noble captive with critical eyes, “will 
suit ; she is of the finest type of Grecian beauty, 
and the child i’s a perfect Psyche. ’ ’ He paid his 
gold for them, and when, after due preparation, 
they were presented to their proud mistress, who 
would tolerate no ill-favored or awkward persons 
among her attendants, she was in raptures. It 
was not long before she comprehended that her 
new slaves were of high birth — the woman ac- 
complished, learned and refined ; and, urged by 
curiosity, she endeavored by every means, gentlS 
and harsh, to ascertain her history ; but not even 
the point of her sharp jewelled stiletto, which 
drew blood from the wound it made in her at- 
tendant’s delicate flesh, could force the revela- 
tion of the secret she so closely guarded. 

‘ ‘ Our name will perish with us, ’ ’ was always 
the reply, until, finding how hopeless it was to 
expect any longer the information she hungered 
for, she yielded the caprice for something new. 
She could not afford to lose the invaluable ser- 
vices of a slave whose exquisite taste, faithful 
service, refinement, and beautiful presence, more 
than fulfilled her most fastidious and exacting 
requirements. Her own little daughter Claudia 
— afterwards the wife of Nemesius — had also her 
caprice. She would have the slave-child Zilla 
for her own companion and playmate; she in- 
sisted on her sharing her studies, music, danc- 
ing, and all else ; and being the only child, she 


48 


PALMS. 


was indulged. So they grew to womanhood to- 
gether, loving each other, and happy only when 
they were together. 

A day came when, stricken by a fatal disease, 
the proud Roman lady, Claudia’s mother, died. 
A year later the noble Grecian matron, whose 
secret sorrows had preyed upon the springs of 
her life until they were exhausted, passed from 
captivity to freedom. The two motherless girls 
clung to each other, their affection drawn closer 
by their sorrow ; no effort was made to separate 
them, and nothing occurred to divide their in- 
terests, or break up their mutual dependence 
upon each other, until Claudia’s hand was sought 
in marriage by Nemesius, who was said to be 
the first match in Rome. The espousals took 
place with the understanding that the friends 
were not to be separated. Zilla, older and more 
thoughtful than Claudia by a few years, found 
favor in the eyes of Nemesius, who, perceiving 
that the loss of such companionship would prove 
a serious disadvantage to his young wife, as- 
sured her that he wished the friendship existing 
between them to continue as heretofore. She 
went with them to the villa on the Aventine, 
and we have seen how faithful and tender and 
true she was to Claudia, even unto death. 

This little digression will explain why Zilla, 
in language, bearing, and manner, was so supe- 
rior in every respect to the class to which adverse 
fate had assigned her. 


PALMS. 


49 


Seeing that Claudia was pleased, the good 
nurse played and sang on and on, merry airs, 
dance music, and comic little songs, that made 
the child laugh and clap her dimpled hands, and 
beat her feet softly on the grass ; then when, 
afraid of wearying her, Zilla laid the lute aside, 
Claudia threw her arms around her neck and 
kissed her. 

‘ ‘ Oh, I know now that he will be here very 
soon ! ’ ’ she exclaimed. ‘ ‘ I dream it like the 
poet, I feel it like the warm sunlight in my 
heart. ’ ’ 

u Yes, dear one, I am sure of it,” said Zilla, 
returning the sweet caress. “Now we’ll gather 
flowers, and make fresh garlands for DU Penates ; 
he will like that, for he honors the gods.” 

‘ 1 Oh, yes — but — how wilt thou find the pret- 
tiest?” she asked hesitatingly. 

“By smelling and touching them,” was Zilla’ s 
ready answer. “ It is easy to tell a hyacinth from 
a rose, and a violet from a pomegranate flower, 
which has no perfume. We’ll go nearer the 
fountain, my love, where the spray will fall upon 
the garlands as we make them, and keep them 
fresh. ’ ’ 

It did not take Zilla long, in such a wilderness 
of bloom, to collect an armful of the richest 
flowers, vines, and leaves of the sweet olive ; then 
the two sat together on a low bank of moss, busy 
and chattering over their work. 

“The blue ones are here to thy left,” said 


50 


PALMS. 


Zilla, guiding the child’s hand ; “the white ones 
just in front, close by the blush roses ; these are 
the sweet olive leaves, and — ” 

“Howcanst thou tell one from the other?” 
interrupted Claudia. “I know thou hast not 
told me true !” 

“I tell thee true : it is by the touch, the smell, 
the thorns, that I know them.” 

“Why can not I, too?” 

“Thou wilt do it just as I do when thou art 
older. Thou hast many things to learn yet. 
Now here are some carnations smelling like 
cinnamon — some red, some white ; they will 
look lovely with the blush roses and almond 
blossoms, and the orange flowers,” answered the 
unscrupulous Zilla, ready to say anything that 
would save her darling from a knowledge of the 
bitter truth. And presently they grew so in- 
tent on their work that Claudia no longer cared 
to talk, and Zilla was glad of silence, to wonder 
how she should meet the queries evolved from 
the child’s ripening intelligence, which would 
not much longer allow the concealment of her 
misfortune. Never having seen, she was as yet 
unable to comprehend the dark side of her life. 

While Zilla was pondering the question, she 
fancied she heard a footstep, which might be 
that of one of the gardeners ; but the sound sud- 
denly ceased, and was resumed, as if some one were 
stealthily approaching. She looked up quickly, 
but saw no one ; in a few moments she heard a 


PALMS. 


51 


rustling of leaves, and on casting a keen glance 
around, thought she discovered a quivering of 
the ivy vines which covered a screen- work that 
furnished the backgroud for a statue of Silenus ; 
another glance, more steady and penetrating, 

* discovered a hand pressing aside the sprays, and 
through the space so opened were visible a pair 
of large dark eyes gazing intently towards them. 
She dropped the garland she was weaving, and, 
crouching on one knee, threw one arm around 
the child, and as swift as lightning lifted the 
other to her head, and drew out from the heavy 
coil of hair at the back a sharp, gleaming dagger, 
such as the Roman women in those days of vio- 
lence had need to carry. u It is one of those ac- 
cursed Christians, lurking about to watch for an 
opportunity to steal the child for their midnight 
sacrifice ! ’ ’ was the thought that flashed through 
her mind ; ‘ ‘ but there will be a struggle unto 
death first.’ ’ Her teeth were set, her face rigid 
with her purpose, and as white as marble in the 
concentration of her heroic will ; she looked like 
a tigress ready to spring on the hunter who would 
rob her of her young. 

The intruder, seeing that he was discovered, 
came from his place of concealment and stood in 
full view, the bright sunlight upon him reveal- 
ing every feature. It was Nemesius. His com- 
plexion was bronzed, his face lined and grave, 
and the hair on his temples threaded with white. 
Zilla uttered a low cry, and pointed to the child, 


52 


PALMS. 


still busy among tbe flowers. He lifted his hand 
for her to be silent; his emotion was too deep for 
words; his chin quivered and his face grew pal- 
lid as he stood gazing upon the image of his lost 
love. The silence was broken by the child: 

“Zilla! some one is here! I am afraid: come' 
to me!” she cried. 

‘ 1 Tet her come to me, ’ ’ he said, in low, hoarse 
tones. 

“Yes, yes, dear child, some one is indeed here 
— he whom thou hast waited for; he stands there, 
and bids thee come to his embrace,” said Zilla, 
in trembling tones. 

Claudia threw back her head, a radiant smile 
lit up her lovely face; and she sprang up, grasp- 
ing Zilla’ s hand to be led to him, so dependent 
had she always been upon her for guidance; her 
countenance glowed with joy, but her wide-open 
eyes turned blankly in another direction from 
where he stood. 

“Where? where?” she exclaimed, dragging 
at Zilla’ s hand. 

‘ ‘ Here. Come to me ; do not be afraid. L,et 
go her hand, ’ ’ he said. ‘ ‘ This way, my sweet 
child. What is the meaning of this?” he sud- 
denly asked Zilla, as the child, while apparently 
gazing directly at him, went from him. In an 
instant Zilla was at his side. 

“She is blind — blind from her birth!” she 
said, her countenance grave and stern ; 4 1 but she 
is unconscious of her misfortune, and must not 
be told of it.” 


PALMS. 


53 


For answer he sprang forward, lifted the child 
in his arms, clasping her to his breast, and rain- 
ing kisses upon her happy face. He had made 
a sepulchre of his heart all these years; now sud- 
denly unsealed, the true, tender nature within 
awoke to new life; the deep fountain of his af- 
fection, so long pent up, flowed forth, mingled 
with an infinite pity and tenderness, towards the 
innocent and lovely being that claimed it. He 
called her by the sweetest and most endearing 
names, covering her with caresses, which she, 
radiant with happiness, returned with glad 
smiles and sweet, artless words. 

The meeting had been entirely unexpected to 
the great captain, who had intended to go to his 
villa and return unseen, to select sites for his 
Greek statuary. Going towards the spot where 
the cases were deposited, to see if his orders had 
been carried out, he heard the sound of a lute, 
accompanied by a wonderfully sweet voice, which 
presently ceased; then he heard a woman and 
child conversing, and“ he determined to conceal 
himself, ascertain who they were, and go his 
way. This was not altogether purposeless, for 
there was something in his heart that assured 
him he was near his child — his child whom he 
had never seen — and, impelled by the irresistible 
impulse, he, treading softly, passed behind the 
screen of ivy, and, gazing through, beheld that 
which has been already described. 

“Why was this misfortune concealed from 
me?” he asked, turning suddenly to Zilla. 


54 


PALMS. 


Zilla laid her finger on her lip, and raised her 
hand to arrest his speech; then, in a few brief 
words, spoken in her own sweet Thessalian 
tongue, she reminded him of the day he had or- 
dered her from his presence, the day when with 
aching heart she had gone to his apartment to 
tell him of it. 

“I was mad — mad with grief! I remember 
what thou recallest, and if thou canst not forgive 
my cruel neglect, let it comfort thee to know that 
I can never forgive myself, ’ ’ he answered, in the 
same language. 

“Forgive is a word unknown in the vocabu- 
lary of a slave towards her master, ’ ’ she replied, 
in cold, quiet tones. “The child does not know 
she is blind. I have never spoken to her, nor 
allowed others to do so, of her wanting sense. I 
have guarded her from the remotest conception 
of her loss, which was not so difficult a task as 
might appear; for, having been born blind, she 
is not conscious that she is unlike others. At 
least I fondly hoped so, until this very day, when 
suddenly she asked me: ‘What is light?’ I 
evaded the question, and beg of thee not to refer 
to her great deprivation. Her life so far has 
been very happy — ’ ’ 

“Made so by thee, Zilla.’ ’ 

“Her only ungratified happiness, noble sir, 
has been an almost feverish longing for thy pres- 
ence, ’ ’ continued the relentless Zilla. 

“And so thou didst teach her to love me! 


PALMS. 


55 


Faithful Zilla! how can I ever repay thy care and 
tenderness? From this moment thou art free!” 
he said, with emotion. 

‘ ‘ Thou meanest kindly, * ’ she answered, in low, 
even tones, 1 ‘ but I can never be free from the 
promise I made to her dying mother. I under- 
stand thee to mean I am no longer thy slave, but 
I am hers by the affection I bear her, and by that 
promise; and unless thou dost compel me by 
force to leave her, I never will. It would kill 
me to be separated from her; for remember, 
noble Nemesius, she is the only thing Fate has 
spared me to love.” 

1 ‘ Thou shalt never leave her by will of mine, 
I swear it by the altars of the gods!” he said. 
‘ ‘ She is thine by adoption and such love as only 
mothers can give their offspring. ’ ’ 

While this conversation was going on in the 
musical Thessalian speech, the child, with one 
arm around her father’s neck, had been busily 
tracing with her dainty fingers every line of his 
face, each feature in turn, following the outline 
of his head and chin, always bringing her hand 
back like a white fluttering bird, to his eyes, as 
if to make sure of something. She felt that they 
were full of great tears, which wet her cheek, 
close pressed to his, and dropped upon her fin- 
gers. 

“Why dost thou weep when I am so glad?” 
she asked, tremulously. 

“Aha! my little love! how could I weep, hav- 


PALMS. 


56 

in g just found thee? What thou mistakest 
for tears is the spray from the fountain, blown 
into my face by a zephyr,” he answered, smooth- 
ing her hair from her forehead that he might scan 
her wonderful loveliness. 

“And thou wilt never leave me again? Oh! 
how I longed to see thee! but never could unless 
when I was asleep ; then when I awoke thou wert 
gone! Oh! it was very tiresome to wait so long; 
but now I have thee, and I will never let thee 
go!” she said, clinging closer to him. 

“Nothing shall separate us again, my dove, 
not even death,” he whispered. 

The words, “Not even death,” of the brave, 
handsome pagan, it will be seen later, bore a 
strange significance to subsequent events in his 
history. 

“Go, Zilla, tell Symphronius that I am here ; 
tell him to prepare a festa. I will follow pres- 
ently with the child,” continued Nemesius. 

“Zilla! my Zilla! come kiss me; let me feel 
thy hand. I love thee too, but he — thou know- 
est how long he has been away!” said the sweet 
child, fearing that in her new-found happiness 
the faithful nurse would feel herself neglected. 

“Thou canst not love him too much, my 
child,” answered Zilla, caressing the dimpled 
hand she held, and laughing as she sped away on 
her errand, leaving the two together. 

Nemesius could not weary of gazing on the 
beautiful face of his little Claudia, listening to 


PALMS. 


57 

her sweet words, and receiving her tender ca- 
resses; while her sightless eyes, looking blankly 
into his, pervaded his whole being with pain and 
tenderness indescribable. She told him of her 
plans and her simple pleasures — her doves, the 
nightingales, her friends the finches and thrushes, 
— delighted by the interest he expressed in them 
all; and then he bore her in his arms from grotto 
to fountain, through the verdant alleys, and at 
last to the cascade. Her innocent joy stung him 
with bitter self-reproach; he was almost over- 
whelmed as thoughts of the past would come ; he 
longed to be alone to give vent to his emotions, 
but this was impossible until he gave her back to 
Zilla’s care, and he could only vow reparation. 

‘ ‘ A lustrum ago !” he murmured. 4 1 Has it been 
a dark dream, or have I been mad or turned to 
stone? And all the while this living, breathing 
image of my lost love — her child — abandoned, 
forgotten, almost hated, awaiting me here, and 
blind — blind! Why did not thy vengeance, 
great Nemesis, fall upon me? Alas! it has fallen 
upon me through the innocent.” 

So did the proud, brave spirit of the great 
Roman captain, stung by remorse, melted by 
tenderness and exceeding pity for his little blind 
daughter, bewail itself. 

Happiness once more folded her wings in the 
villa on the Aventine ; the withered garland was 
removed from her statue in the atrium, and re- 
placed by one freshly gathered. Sounds of music 


58 


PALMS. 


and mirth once more echoed through the beauti- 
ful gardens, and there was a feast spread for the 
slaves of Nemesius, who were bidden to enjoy 
themselves in honor of the return of the master 
who had never oppressed them. 


PALMS. 


59 


CHAPTER IV. 

A meeting of old friends. 

Every hour that Nemesius could spare from 
attendance on the Emperor, and the secret duties 
of the new department to which he had been as- 
signed, he spent at the villa with his little 
daughter, whose misfortune made her doubly 
dear to him. He was her willing slave, and suf- 
fered her to lead him whithersoever she would. 
Often, perched upon his shoulder, her arm about 
his neck, they spent hours wandering from one 
favorite haunt to another. He felt when they 
were thus together that an unseen presence at- 
tended him, which quickened his pulses with 
mysterious joy. 

The villa was again open as formerly ; all its 
treasures of art and its rich decorations were un- 
veiled ; fresh garlands daily crowned the statues 
of the gods and of the Dii Penates throughout 
the beautiful dwelling. It was all for the little 
Claudia, although she could not see it ; and for 
her the father’s jealous love exacted from his 
dependents the homage due the mistress of the 
mansion, a homage ungrudgingly given ; for had 
they not loved and pitied her from her very 
birth? Musicians were hired, that she might 


6o 


PA1,MS. 


enjoy their harmonious strains far off or near, as 
she desired, and many a moonlight dance the 
gay-hearted slaves were allowed to have by her 
request. Their merry laughter, mingling with 
the dance-music of lyres and flutes, delighted 
her ear with as keen an enjoyment as when she 
heard the soQgs of birds, fountains, and rustling 
leaves filling the air with their sweet, exultant 
notes. Sometimes when on the broad portico 
with Zilla, listening and laughing as the echoes 
of the music and voices drifted by, she would 
dance for very joyousness, her pretty, graceful 
feet barely touching the mosaic floor, while the 
moonlight stealing through the vines made the 
shadows seem to dance with her. 

In her father’s absence the child clung as of 
old to Zilla, who, glad in the little one’s happi- 
ness, felt no jealous pang, although she was anx- 
iously watchful ; for with Claudia’s quickened 
intelligence her questions as to visible objects 
became more difficult to evade, and it was evi- 
dent that she would ere long discover the mys- 
tery of the darkness that shrouded her senses. 
Apprehensive that this would have a most un- 
happy effect upon her, Nemesius, as well as the 
faithful Zilla, was deeply concerned, and sought 
by every means to guard her from such knowl- 
edge. The man’s great, tender heart was always 
moved by an indescribable emotion, which was 
half torture when she was near him, but when 
absent, without her sweet, living presence to 


PALMS. 


61 


console, the thought of her misfortune became 
Insupportable. He lavished gold on the most 
skilled physicians, every altar in Rome smoked 
with his costly sacrifices, that sight might be 
given to her eyes ; but the first, hearing that she 
was born blind, gave him no hope, and the gods 
he sought to propitiate, no response. He con- 
sulted the augurs and magicians ; some of them 
saw her before making their divinations, but all 
their unholy arts failed. “Unless the gods give 
her sight, she, being born blind, must remain 
so,” was what they said. He offered half his 
fortune to whomsoever would cure her, but none 
would risk his reputation on uncertain experi- 
ments. Thus they proved themselves wise in 
their generation. 

One day, on his way from the Capitoline Hill, 
near the Temple of Apollo, Nemesius unex- 
pectedly met an old friend — Fabian Caecilius — 
whom he was just at that moment thinking of 
and wishing for, but had not seen for years. 
They were distantly related, and their friendship, 
begun in boyhood, continued strong and con- 
stant when both reached manhood. Fabian was 
on the eve of departure from Rome at the time 
of the nuptials of Nemesius, but delayed going, 
to be present at the ceremony and the festivities 
that succeeded. Since that time they had not 
met, the former having passed the intervening 
years visiting foreign countries, while the latter, 
after his great sorrow, had gone with his legion 


62 


PALMS. 


to seek death on the battle-fields of Gaul. In 
the loneliness of his present sorrow concerning* 
the little blind Claudia, Nemesins had often 
wished for his absent friend, who was the only 
being that had ever enjoyed his entire confidence, 
and now, when least expected, he had literally 
run into his arms. 

Foreign travel and constant intercourse with 
men of other lands had made Fabian quite a 
man of the world and a good-natured cynic. 
He had dabbled in the various schools of phi- 
losophy until his mind had become skeptical of 
all they taught ; and although, being a Roman, 
he professed himself a firm believer in the poly- 
theistic religion founded by Numa, secretly he 
had as small faith in that (except as an integral 
part of the machinery of State) as in the teach- 
ings of the philosophers. He still haunted the 
Porticii , and pored over his favorite authors — 
Sallust, Lucretius, Sappho, and Homer; was 
epicurean in his tastes, luxurious in his habits, 
constant in his friendships, and took pride in 
feeling himself not so narrow-minded as the 
rest of mankind. But he had come back to 
Rome at a moment when it was necessary to 
draw a vei*l over such latitudinarian sentiments 
as his, which made him quite as anxious to 
find his old confidant, for the purpose of safely 
relieving his mind, as Nemesius had been to 
meet him. His character, as we see, was a med- 
ley of a quick sort of intelligence without depth, 


PALMS. 


63 

of frivolity, good perceptive faculties, and an in- 
ordinate curiosity; and nothing delighted him 
more than stirring events, provided they did 
not interrupt the soft, sensuous routine of his 
own daily life. 

“I was in Cyprus,” he said, as he and his 
friend — two stately patrician figures — walked 
slowly along, “when I learned that the Chris- 
tians were having a furious time of it between 
the wild beasts and other disagreeable methods 
of torture and death : and, having large pos- 
sessions here, I thought it would be as well, in 
view of the numerous confiscations that were 
going on, to return and demonstrate my fidelity 
to the gods and the Empire, both of which that 
singular people defy, and consequently have to 
suffer the penalty. ’ ’ 

“And justly,” said Nemesius, gravely. 

“To satisfy my philosophic curiosity,” he 
continued, without reference to the remark of 
his friend, ‘ 1 1 went into the Flavian Amphithe- 
atre * the other day, to observe the relative cour- 
age of the Christians and the tigers, and the re- 
sult was in favor of the first, per Fidius! for 
their courage was intelligent, their motive — as 
they view it — worth dying for, while that of the 
beasts was mere savage instinct. Is it not a most 
strange delusion for such brave men to give 
themselves to, thereby robbing the Empire of 
splendid soldiers? Why, such courage exercised 


* Known later as the Coliseum. 


6 4 


PALMS. 


against the enemies of Rome would soon van- 
quish them, and triumphantly end her wars. A 
more glorious age than that of Augustus would 
be revived — ” 

‘ ‘ Thou art a dreamer yet, I ‘find. When wilt 
thou go again to see the enemies of the gods de- 
stroyed ?’ ’ 

“The public games,” he replied, with a light 
laugh, “and the chariot-races at the Circus Max- 
imus, without any admixture of the new specta- 
cular attractions, will satisfy me hereafter. ’ ’ 

The fact is, that while the philosophic curi- 
osity of Fabian Csecilius had been more than 
gratified by the cruel spectacle he had lately wit- 
nessed in the Flavian Amphitheatre, his sensi- 
tive nerves had been so disgusted by the evil 
smells of the place, the yells of the brutal ple- 
beian element of the assemblage of about one 
hundred thousand spectators collected there to 
witness it; by the sight of torn flesh, of spurting 
blood ; by the crunching of human bones in the 
jaws of lions and tigers, and their low, fiendish 
growls over their banquet, that he had sworn 
never to visit it again except for grave reasons. 
He had hurried from the scene, and gone direct 
to the Baths of Sallust to refresh himself ; then 
returned to his luxurious abode, where, sheltered 
from the sun’s glare and heat, shut in from all 
hideous sounds, and reposing amidst flowers, he 
sipped his snow-cooled wine, and lost himself in 
the poems of Lucretius. 


PALMS. 


65 

But Fabian kept all this to himself, and went 
on to tell Nemesius of the wild chase he had 
been in, ever since his arrival in Rome, to find 
him ; but he was either in attendance on the 
Emperor, or engaged in the execution of certain 
secret instructions confided to hii^i, or outside 
the city walls to ascertain the truth of reports 
that had reached the imperial ear of a mutinous 
outbreak among his soldiers. “And this very 
morning I left a note at the office of thy notary,” 
continued Fabian, “telling thee that I was in 
Rome, and making the vainest efforts to find 
thee, asking as a great favor that thou wouldst 
designate a meeting place either at thy villa or 
my palace. Then I promised gold to the mes- 
senger to whom my note was given if he brought 
me a reply ; if his errand should prove bootless, 
I promised to kill him ; after which I sauntered 
up to the Capitoline, where I found thee. Come, 
here we are at my door ; come in and dine with 
me ; I have a good cook, and my wines are of 
the best. ’ ’ 

“I would gladly, for I have many things to 
talk over with thee ; but I am on my way to the 
Forum Vespasian, to see one on important public 
business. This evening I go to my villa, where I 
shall spend the night, and it will make me happy 
if thou wilt accompany me,” said Nemesius, 
holding out his hand, with one of his rare smiles, 
which but few could resist. ‘ 1 Say, shall I call 
for thee?” 


66 


PALMS. 


“Nothing could be more delightful, since I 
can not have thy company now; I accept thy 
invitation with pleasure,” answered Fabian, as 
they clasped hands and separated. 

The late afternoon was waning behind a misty 
veil of gold, which filled the atmosphere with a 
tender, transparent light, and cast a dreamy 
charm over imperial Rome and the distant 
spaces beyond her walls. The air was full of 
fragrance from countless flowers ; innumerable 
fountains sparkled and made low music as they 
tossed their spray on the breeze ; and it was diffi- 
cult to realize that under all this outward beauty 
there were loathsome underground dungeons and 
horrible prisons, crowded with human beings 
guiltless of wrong, delicate, nobly-born women, 
brave men, who had served their country in the 
field, and in the Senate ; faithful, courageous 
beings of heroic worth from other ranks of life — 
all enduring the most merciless cruelties that an 
infernal ingenuity could invent ; whose bones 
were rent, whose flesh was torn and burnt on 
their quivering bodies, and who were tortured 
unto death for the faith that was in them. Yes, 
all this was going on near the costly marble pal- 
aces, near the Temples of Justice. But what 
heeded mighty Rome such sufferings as these, 
when her only care was to exterminate not only 
the captives on whom they were inflicted, but all 
others of their belief? 

On this lovely, late, golden afternoon, Neme- 


PALMS. 67 

sius and Fabian Caecilius, in a handsome chariot, 
were driving towards the Aventine. 

“The gods,” said Nemesius, as they turned 
into the winding road- way which led up the Av- 
entine Hill — “the gods have been propitious in 
giving me the boon of thy companionship once 
more. I have much to unbosom to thee, my 
friend, which would remain sealed to all but 
thee ; for thou knowest I do not wear my heart 
on my toga to be pecked at by crows. ’ ’ 

“No more glad than I, my Nemesius, to be 
with thee, to hear thy voice, and what thou hast 
been about for more than a lustrum . Fame has 
been busy with thy deeds, and I have heard part, 
but not all,” replied Fabian, wrapping his toga 
closer as a fresh breeze from the Tiber swept 
past ; ‘ ‘ but it will be all the pleasanter heard 
from thy own lips. ’ ’ 

They reached the villa just as the last roseate 
tints were fading in the western sky, and the 
new crescent moon and her bright attendant star 
hung suspended in the soft glow. 

“Ah — h!” said Fabian, inhaling a long breath 
of the delicious air, sweet with the aroma of 
cedars and limes, “there is no smell of blood in 
this atmosphere, as below there. How beautiful 
these gardens! It is like a dream of the Golden 
Age, and I shall not be surprised to see Philomel 
and Baucis emerge from yonder grove to invite 
me to a feast of milk and honey. ’ ’ 

“There is one who will give thee better wel- 


68 


PALMS. 


come,” said Nemesius, laughing, as Claudia, 
holding Zilla’s hand, danced across the portico, 
her face dimpled with smiles, and her arms now 
outstretched to embrace him, then to be lifted in 
his strong arms for the usual kiss and caress. 

“ Per Fidius! that is by all odds the loveliest 
little nymph I ever beheld !” exclaimed Fabian. 
“Such grace! such eyes! and hair like gold! 
Whose is she, Nemesius?” 

‘ ‘ That is my only child — blind from her birth 
— be careful not to refer to it in speaking with 
her,” answered Nemesius, with emotion. “She 
does not know — she is not conscious of her mis- 
fortune. ’ ’ 

By this time they had alighted; the next mo- 
ment Claudia was in her father’s arms, clinging 
to him, while he showered soft kisses on her face, 
and her dimpled fingers ran lovingly and with 
dainty touches over his features. Their greeting 
over, Nemesius signed to his friend to approach, 
saying: 

‘ ‘ My little Claudia, I have a guest with me, 
my kinsman, Fabian Csecilius, who has just re- 
turned to Rome after a long absence; wilt thou 
not give him welcome ?’ ’ 

For her father’s sake she gave his friend gra- 
cious welcome; while he, his kindly nature full 
of pity for one so beautiful and so unfortunate, 
spoke to her in low, gentle tones, quite winning 
her favor with his honeyed words. It was 
another discord to this Sybarite to find this fresh 


PALMS. 


69 

contradiction in Nature; why had she been so 
prodigal in beautiful gifts to this little maid, and 
yet withheld that sense which left her life in 
darkness? It seemed like a frightful caprice to 
his sensuous mind; he did not approve of such 
an unequal distribution, and arraigned Nature 
for marring her own perfect work. 

After a delightfully spent evening, Nemesius 
and his friend sat talking far into the night. 
They could scarcely discern each other’s face ; 
for the alabaster lamp, burning faintly in a dis- 
tant recess, sufficed only to dispel the shadows 
around the spot. Except in a silence and shad- 
owy dimness like this, the great captain could 
not have unveiled the hidden sorrows of his life, 
even to one loved and trusted like his kinsman. 

For the first time since its sudden eclipse, Ne- 
mesius spoke of his brief dream of happiness, of 
his indifference to his fate, and his flight into 
Gaul to seek death at the head of his legion. He 
spared not himself in reference to his neglect of 
his child, whom he had refused even to look on 
before his departure ; and described how, by acci- 
dent, he first beheld her on the day he came to the 
villa to select sites for his Greek statues, and 
saw in her the perfect image of her mother ; and 
how his heart, vanquished by remorse and affec- 
tion, had turned relentless against himself for his 
long and cruel neglect. He told how the bitter- 
ness of it all was increased tenfold by discovering 
that the little one was blind — blind from her 


70 


PALMS. 


birth ; and that taught to love him by her nurse, 
who had been as a tender mother to her, she had 
been waiting and longing for him, unconscious 
of his want of love for her. 

Fabian listened with sympathetic ear. It was 
the most touching story, taken altogether, he had 
ever heard ; it was equal to one of the emotional 
epics of Simonides ; there was nothing coarse, 
nothing plebeian, nothing revolting in it; and the 
fact of the child’s blindness being a mystery 
to herself was a climax of the most refined 
tragedy. Of course, these were his mental re- 
flections ; but it must not be imagined that be- 
cause he indulged in them his sympathy was any 
the less sincere. It was his nature. 

Then Nemesius related the unsparing efforts 
that had been attempted to give sight to his lit- 
tle Claudia, and how all had failed; and how the 
hoplessness of her case had grown to be the 
crowning sorrow of his life. 

“I think,” said Fabian, several minutes after 
Nemesius had ceased speaking — “I think I can 
hold out a hope to thee, my friend. One should 
never despond. I know a learned man who cures 
all manner of diseases. He has spent much of 
his life in the Bast, where the science of healing 
is far in advance of anything we know — but — I 
doubt if thou wouldst care to see him.” 

‘ ‘ Doubt ! I would go to Avernus, to seek him 
in its darkest caverns, were he there, had I a hope 
that his skill could give sight to my child !” ex- 
claimed Nemesius. 


PALMS. 


71 


“But — he’s a Jew.” 

‘ ‘ Is that all ?’ ’ said the other, quietly. 

“I thought the Jews were proscribed equally 
with the followers of the Christus. It might not 
be well for thee to have dealings with him. ’ ’ 

“Where is this man?” 

“He has a den between the Theatre of Mar- 
cellus and the Tiber, in a long, low building 
that’s ready to tumble to ruins ; it used to be a 
stable ages ago, but it is inhabited now by glad- 
iators, athletes, and the like. It is not a safe 
place to show one’s self in.” 

“Where didst thou first meet him? It must 
have been a strange adventure to have thrown 
thee and one of his class together. ’ ’ 

“It was, my Nemesius ; the acquaintance was 
involuntary on my part, believe me. I was on 
my way from Cyprus in a vessel crowded with a 
motley throng of filthy soldiers, many of them 
wounded, most of them ill ; there were a number 
of prisoners, whose condition did not make the 
air especially fragrant; and also a crowd of trad- 
ers from the Bast. Per Fidins ! I was nearly 
stifled — ’ ’ 

“I can imagine the effect on one of such epi- 
curean tastes as thine ; but why embark in such 
company?” laughed Nemesius. 

“It was the only vessel that would leave for 
Brundusium for weeks. I embarked at night, 
and was sound asleep when the other passengers 
came aboard ; and when I awoke, we were at 


72 


PALMS. 


sea, too far from land for me to do anything but 
try to bear the disgusting situation like a Stoic, 
the principles of whose philosophy I had some 
acquaintance with, and had found most conven- 
ient under certain circumstances. But those foul 
smells, and the pestilential air, proved too much 
for me, and, despite my resistance, I fell ill of a 
fever, and must have died, had not the Jew phy- 
sician I have spoken of, who was a passenger, 
taken my case in hand, and saved my life. He 
knew nothing of me ; I was unconscious, and all 
that he did was out of a noble and generous hu- 
manity. We landed at Brundusium, and, being 
too feeble to continue my journey, he took me to 
a house among the mountains, which belonged 
to a countryman of his, where we remained until 
I got well and strong ; then he accompanied me 
to Rome, where he had business, and is under 
my protection so long as I can give it to him. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I would he were not of that race who, like 
the Christians, also despise the gods, and are for- 
ever plotting against the Empire to avenge the 
subjugation of Judea. Many believe they are 
leagued together — Christians and Jews — for they 
worship the same God,” said Nemesius. 

“They hate each other, notwithstanding, far 
too bitterly to enter into any mutual compact for 
any purpose ; and it strikes me that it would save 
the State a vast deal of trouble, if an edict were 
issued to compel them to fight it out between 
them to the extermination of one or the other, in 


PALMS. 


73 


which case the remnant left could be quickly dis- 
posed of, ’ ’ said the pagan noble, laughing lightly. 
“But I tell thee, my Nemesius,” he added, more 
gravely, as he ran his fingers through his curling, 
perfumed hair — “under the rose be it said — these 
‘persecutions,’ as they are called, serve no good 
end that I can see. I have studied the question 
since the first one under Nero, and, per Fidius! 
the same result has followed every one: the 
Christians are not exterminated, although hun- 
dreds of thousands of them have been put to death 
every time; and when it is thought that there’s 
an end of them, by Hecate! they swarm out of 
the very bowels of the earth, and other hiding- 
places, as if for every one slain ten arise in all 
the vigor of life, and as strong and defiant in their 
faith, and as ready to die for it, as those who pre- 
ceded them. One would suppose the wretches 
to be immortal! My father, as thou knowest, 
was keeper of the criminal records; and out of 
curiosity, I learned many remarkable things con- 
cerning the Christians, which made me think it 
would be just as well to let them alone. The 
gods, who are powerful, do not take vengeance 
on them: why should mortals? I tell thee that 
these ages of blood only serve to imbrute the 
mind of a people; they prepare the pabulum 
which nourishes anarchists and tyrants — ” 

“Art sure the fever has entirely left thy brain, 
Fabian? for it seems to me thy sentiments are 
not such as a true and loyal Roman should utter,” 


74 


PALMS. 


interrupted Nemesius, frowning at language 
which was offensive to him as a faithful subject 
and soldier of the Empire, and to his firm belief 
in his polytheistic creed. ‘ ‘ Let us quit this sub- 
ject for the present, and tell me more of thy 
Jew.” 

‘‘Pardon me, Nemesius! Foreign travel has 
a tendency to enlarge one’s ideas, and shake 
one’s narrow prejudices. I only deal with the 
results of facts I have observed, but I will not 
yield even to thee in my devotion to the Empire 
and the gods. Now for the Jew. I have told 
thee all I know about him, except his name, 
which is Eleazer ben Asa. * My faith in him is 
the result of his skill, of which I am the living 
proof. As to the rest, he’s a venerable-looking 
man, has a noble face, and his hair is white ; he 
may be one of those Judean princes who have 
been driven into exile by the fortunes of war. 
Wouldst thou see him?” 

“I would, but how? He would be a marked 
man if messenger of mine were known to inquire 
for him. ’ ’ 

“I think there’ d be bones broken, or murder, 
should any be found seeking him,” said Fabian; 
‘ ‘ for those savages among whom he lives are his 
sworn friends. He heals them when they come 
slashed and with broken bones from the arena ; 
and he cures their women and children — for these 

* Eleazer — God his helper; Asa — physician: a meaning of 
the name all unknown to Fabian Csecilius. 


PALMS. 


75 


brutes have such relations. But I have thought 
of a plan. I brought home some rare wines. I 
will send some samples to thee by the Jew, in the 
character of a wine-merchant. ’ ’ 

“An admirable plan! But when, how soon?” 
exclaimed Nemesius. 

“It grieves, me to be unable to say with any 
certainty,” replied Fabian. “He comes occa- 
sionally to examine my pulse, fearing my fever 
may return ; for it is, he says, periodic as well as 
pestilential, and requires looking after, as it is 
months before it gets out of one’s system. It 
would not be safe for him or myself, should I 
venture into that quarter in which he lives; but 
I will detain him when he appears again. Let 
me think — yes, it was four days ago he visited 
me; he may come to-morrow, or it may be later; 
but he’s sure to come.” 

“I feel a strange hope springing up in my 
heart; something whispers that my little blind 
daughter will yet see,” said Nemesius, joyfully. 

1 ‘ I will take Symphronius into my confidence, 
so far as to say that I expect a wine-merchant 
with samples for my selection, for whom he must 
be on the look-out, and Entertain until I return, 
should I happen to be absent. What didst thou 
say he is called?” 

“Eleazer ben Asa. Then thou wilt give him 
safe conduct hence, Nemesius?” f 

This question startled Nemesius, and he hesi- 
tated. His sensitive, loyal nature questioned for 


PALMS. 


76 

an instant the propriety of holding an interview, 
for his own selfish ends, with one of a proscribed 
class, who were known as the enemies of Rome 
and the gods; but, conscious of his firm integrity 
and devotion to both, he silenced the doubt, and 
emphatically gave the required promise. Yes, 
he would dare much, he would suffer all things, 
to have the darkened eyes of his child opened to 
the light. Notwithstanding his frequent disap- 
pointments, he seemed, like Antaeus, only to 
draw fresh strength from each defeat. The Jew 
should not only have safe conduct from the villa, 
but, if he wrought the desired miracle, he should 
have unlimited gold, and safe exit from Rome 
itself. Only for her to see — he would give his 
life for that! 

Night was trailing her spangled mantle west- 
ward, and there was already a pale opalescent 
glow in the east, when Nemesius and his guest 
sought their couches, the flute-notes of the night- 
ingales echoing in tremulous cadences from their 
bosky haunts in the gardens, and sweet aromas, 
that rose like incense through the dewy silence, 
soothing them to slumber and dreams of peace. 


PALMS. 


77 


CHAPTER V. 

while his victims win palms, valerian 

PLANS A COMEDY. 

Stirring events were daily taking place in 
Rome, and Nemesius, owing to the peculiar na- 
ture of his duties, was incessantly occupied. It 
was rarely now that he was able to go to his villa 
on the Aventine to spend even a portion of the 
day; and he was obliged to content his longing 
heart with sending sweet messages to his little 
blind Claudia, accompanied with delicious con- 
fections ; sometimes he sent her flowers, and rare 
fruits from Sicily, and later a singing-bird 
brought from foreign parts, to let her know how 
constantly she was in his thoughts. 

The persecution increased in violence; already 
the Christian churches had been levelled to the 
ground, or given over to base and idolatrous pur- 
poses. The vigilance and energy of the pagan 
detectives were worthy of a better cause. Re- 
cently they had discovered that a noble Senator 
(who stood high in the esteem of the Emperor) 
and his wife were Christians ; also a wealthy 
widow of patrician blood; one of Rome’s brav- 
est generals ; a rich prefect, and a young lad of 
seventeen years, the son of a Consul ; and it was 


PALMS. 


78 

rumored — but whispered under the breath — that 
certain officers of the Praetorian Guard were sus- 
pected; though it was deemed expedient in the 
latter case to be cautious, and take no action un- 
til definite proof could be shown ; for it was well 
known to those in power what the Praetorian 
Guard were capable of doing if roused, and it 
was remembered what they had done in the past. 

Of these fresh victims some were thrown into 
the lowest dungeons of the Mamertine, to await 
torture and death ; two were cast to the tigers in 
the Flavian Amphitheatre; and the Consul’s son, 
who was arrested in the act of tearing down an 
edict of the Emperor commanding a more rigor- 
ous persecution of the Christians, was bound and 
sewed up in a raw hide, then tossed to hungry, 
ferocious dogs, who tore him until the exulting 
strains he sang of Christ the Lord were silent in 
death — silent to mortal ears, but more vibrant 
and joyful as he passed the dark portal to the 
full glory of his eternal reward. 

Nemesius was a man whose natural instincts 
were humane and generous, whose quick im- 
pulse was always on the side of the defenceless, 
who was ever ready, with a fine, magnanimous 
sort of scorn, to forgive the erring. Constant in 
his affections, he would yet have sacrificed his 
own child had his stern sense of duty demanded 
it. He was simply a noble pagan, ignorant of 
the ethics of Christian philosophy. Some of 
those Christians whose order for arrest he was 


PALMS. 


79 


compelled to write had been his most valued 
friends, the nobility of whose character he had 
venerated and set as a model for his own imita- 
tion ; others were beautiful, high-born ladies, as 
virtuous as Octavia, as gentle and devoted as 
Cornelia, whom he had frequently conversed 
with, and always admired ; but, having em- 
braced the new delusion, and denied the gods, it 
was beyond his power to help them, and there 
was nothing left for them but to suffer the pen- 
alty they so obstinately courted. 

The pang Nemesius felt in being the instru- 
ment of their arrest, knowing that they would 
be tortured with every indignity, and made to 
suffer in ways that chilled his blood to think of, 
can be more easily imagined than described ; but 
he tried to steel himself against the pleadings of 
humanity, and rise above it, by the considera- 
tion that as enemies of Rome and the gods, it 
was just they should perish. This thought 
quenched all softer emotions, and when he was 
compelled to attend the Emperor on occasions 
when the latter desired to glut his cruel soul by 
witnessing the sufferings of certain Christians 
against whom he had special hate, the noble sol- 
dier’s whole being would be so stirred by a pas- 
sion of mingled fury and pity that he could 
scarcely control himself — of fury at the obstinate 
and defiant constancy of the Christian victims, 
and of pity for their fate, when so little would 
have saved them. 


8o 


PALMS. 


Nemesius was but following the ideas in which 
he had been educated, as Saul of Tarsus had 
done at an earlier date, who in slaying the fol- 
lowers of the Crucified thought he was doing 
God service, until that wonderful vision near 
Damascus, when the thunder, the lightning, and 
the Voice rent the veil of darkness from his soul; 
and who later, after a glorious apostolate in this 
very Rome, was beheaded on yonder hill for the 
love of Him whom he had persecuted. 

Scenes of bloodshed and cruelty are sickening 
even in the shambles, but when human beings — 
even the enemies of their country, who have 
sought the destruction of its government, its re- 
ligion and laws — are sacrificed with an insatiate 
and relentless fury, in which nothing is spared 
that can aggravate the merciless horrors of their 
fate, nature revolts, and although, from a false 
standpoint, none may gainsay the justice of 
their punishment, she shrinks, and would, if she 
might, veil her eyes from the spectacle. 

And thus it was, whenever he could do so, that 
Nemesius avoided these scenes of horror; for he 
had in the highest degree the true instincts of a 
brave soldier, not those of an executioner. It 
can be easily imagined what an indescribable re- 
lief it was to him when, by a brief cessation of 
his uncongenial duties, he found time to seek the 
sweet repose of his villa, and the presence of the 
precious jewel it contained. To hold his sight- 
less darling in his arms, to feel her sweet breath 


PAL,MS. 


8l 


upon his cheek, listen to her simple endear- 
ments, while she caressed him and related in 
merry tones all that had happened since his last 
visit; to feel his heart melting and running over 
with a tenderness that almost made him weep, 
was his happiness and recompense. Together 
they wandered about the beautiful gardens, he 
ever on the alert to remove the smallest stick or 
stone that lay in her path, lest her tender feet 
should be bruised, and press back the overhang- 
ing sprays and flowering thorns, to prevent their 
getting entangled in her shining hair, or wound- 
ing by the slightest scratch her delicate flesh. 

At table it was the same watchful care that 
with gentlest touch guided the snow-cooled 
orange-juice to her lips, selected for her repast 
the daintiest confections, and the most delicious 
bits of the birds especially prepared to tempt her 
appetite. Then would follow her pretence of 
feeding him, accompanied with gleeful trills of 
laughter and gladsome words; for she did not 
yet comprehend the mysterious darkness that 
veiled the outer world from her. Sometimes she 
fell asleep in his arms, and lay all unconscious 
of the slow, heavy tears that dropped from his 
eyes upon her golden hair. “Why,” his heart 
would cry out in anguish — “why have the gods, 
whom I have worshipped and served from my 
youth, dealt me so hard a fate as this? Why are 
they not propitious, when I spare neither costly 
sacrifice nor prayers that her eyes may be 


82 


PALMS. 


opened ?” Then he would wonder what had 
become of Fabian Csecilius, his kinsman, and 
the Jew healer, Eleazer ben Asa, from neither of 
whom he had yet heard. 

Thus occupied between his public duties and his 
almost stolen visits to his child, Nemesius had but 
little time to devote to social pleasures, or the 
usual amusements of his class. His old inti- 
mates, even Valerian himself, and certain noble 
beauties of the palace, began to note his absence, 
and observed, as the weeks and months passed 
by, that his presence among them became of 
more rare occurrence. At first they imagined 
that the exigencies of the imperial service en- 
grossed him ; then one and another began to 
grow unduly curious; then there were whispers 
in the air, and suggestions professing to furnish 
a clue to the mystery, which determined some 
of his good friends to lose no time in finding out 
what pretty intrigue so absorbed him; “for it 
will be a good joke,” they said among them- 
selves, “to discover that our great captain, the 
model of patricians, is mortal like ourselves. ’ * 

Sometimes he was seen in attendance on the 
Emperor when he went in state to the Circus 
Maximus to witness the games, the races, or 
some extraordinary spectacle. On one occasion 
he was observed with the imperial party at the 
Flavian Amphitheatre, there by the command of 
the tyrant he served, who desired to glut the 
savageffy of his own brutal nature, and give the 


PALMS. 


83 

sanction of his presence to an exceptionally cruel 
conflict between Numidian lions — fierce, raven- 
ing monsters — that were turned half-famished 
into the arena, and the defenceless Christians 
doomed to be exposed to their fury, whose pagan 
jailers derided and taunted them, bidding them 
call upon their God, of whom they made such 
boasts, to deliver them from the teeth of the sav- 
age beasts. But when the Christians, their coun- 
tenances shining with exalted joy, entered the 
arena, chanting a song of deliverance, while the 
savage throng who gazed down upon them ex- 
pected to see them suddenly destroyed, the great, 
gaunt, hungry lions cowered, and, creeping at a 
distance from them, lay supinely down. In vain 
all the furious howlings and shouts of the disap- 
pointed people ; in vain every effort of the keep- 
ers to rouse the lions to such rage that they 
would spring upon and destroy their victims: 
they lay like whipped hounds, as if afraid to 
move. 

None of that immense crowd was so furious 
that day as he who wore the purple — Valerian, 
Emperor of Rome — none so baffled, so mad with 
brutal passions at the utter failure of a spectacle 
he had anticipated with the keenest delight ; but 
a swift message from him brought the torturers 
and executioners on the scene, and when the 
first had done their work of tearing and rending 
the quivering flesh of the victims, the latter be- 
headed them. 


8 4 


PALMS. 


‘ 1 It was nothing wonderful ! ’ ’ the people said ; 
“it was evident the lions had been tampered 
with, drugged maybe, else they would have torn 
those wretches to pieces in a trice. It was a dis- 
appointment to us, but they got their deserts at 
last. ’ ’ 

Aye ! their exceeding great reward, their 
crowns, their palms, had their blind persecutors 
but understood the truth. 

Nemesius had witnessed the whole terrible 
spectacle with stern eyes, and, while it sickened 
his heart, and offended the natural humanity of 
his nature, he condoned the brutal cruelty of it 
by the thought, “The enemies of the gods and 
the Empire must suffer!” This was the shibbo- 
leth of his benighted mind. For a space he once 
more disappeared from the public gaze, until 
some weeks afterwards one of his friends met 
him at the Temple of Mars, where they both 
witnessed a marvellous thing. In fact, so many 
marvellous things were occurring in relation to 
the Christians, that the Roman people began to 
whisper traditions of wonderful events that had 
taken place in former persecutions, and were al- 
most led to fancy that ‘ ‘ the gods were indifferent 
to their own honor and supremacy, they bore it 
all so tamely, when it would be such easy work 
foi them to destroy this rebellious sect, who were 
insulting, and defying them, and threatening the 
Empire with ruin. ’ ’ 

On the day referred to, two of the new sect — 


PALMS. 


85 

u a sturdy, obstinate, and defiant pair,” whose 
testimony for Christ was like the blast of a 
trumpet — were commanded to throw spices into 
a brazier that stood on a tripod before a marble 
statue of the god who was honored in the Tem- 
ple. In loud, clear tones they refused to present 
a single grain in honor of an image of stone. 
“We know of no God except Him who created 
the ; heavens, the earth, and mankind, and His 
only Son, Jesus Christ, who died for the salvation 
of the world; in whom dwell all power, majesty, 
and perfection, and who will bring to naught 
the gods of stone and brass that ye worship, and 
will reign over the whole earth. ’ ’ 

At a sign from the judge, one of the lie tors 
approached, and struck the speaker a cruel blow 
on the mouth with an iron implement of torture 
that lay within reach ; and at the moment (the 
blow almost instantaneously following the words) 
the statue of the god toppled from its pedestal, 
and fell with a loud crash to the pavement, shiv- 
ered to fragments. Some who witnessed the 
miracle embraced the Christian faith on the spot, 
and openly declared it; while the rest shouted : 
“Down with the sorcerers! Ret them die!” A 
few minutes of fiery pain, of crimson agony; a 
keen, fierce quivering of nerves and flesh, and 
the soldiers of Christ triumphed over death. 
Released like birds from the nets of the fowler, 
their glad souls sped swiftly to the beatific vision 
of Him of whom they had given testimony 
sealed with their blood. 


86 


PALMS. 


“ Insens ate s /” murmured Nemesius. “Is a 
a false idea worth such suffering, such a waste 
of courage? I cannot understand it. Can it be 
that they court death for the sake of notoriety? 
Do they secretly believe that by so dying, 
with an almost divine courage, they win 
an apotheosis of unimaginable glory? They 
must have a motive; they must be acquainted 
with some powerful science of magic unknown 
to the rest of the world, to enable them to do 
many things I have heard of, and some that I 
have witnessed. I confess I should like to pen- 
etrate the mystery.” 

These thoughts haunted Nemesius as he drove 
towards the Aventine that evening, until, leav- 
ing the Tiber, he guided his horses towards the 
left, and began the ascent of the rough roadway 
leading to his villa. The purer air, the shade 
of rustling trees, the sweet thought of the wel- 
come that awaited him, and the brief, joyous 
hours that would follow, banished from his mind 
questions which he could neither comprehend 
nor solve. 

This was his last visit for many days, and 
poor little Claudia’s spirits began to droop. She 
bore it bravely for a short time, assured that his 
absence would be of brief duration; but when 
each sunset brought her fresh disappointment, 
until the days began to run into weeks, she 
poured her plaint into faithful' Zilla’s bosom, 
who, as of old, did all she could to comfort her. 


PALMS. 


87 

“It would pain him,” said the nurse one day, 
while they were resting in the entrance of a 
grotto, the warm Roman sun steeping all the 
beauty and fragrance around in soft splendor — 
“it would pain him, dear child, to think thou 
wert fretting. Dost thou not know that a great 
soldier like the noble Nemesius, the Emperor’s 
favorite, can not get off whenever he would, es- 
pecially in troublous times like these?” 

< ‘But why — why, when I want him?” she 
sobbed. 1 1 The Emperor is a wicked man — ’ ’ 

“Hush-sh-sh! My little lady, the air hath 
ears and tongue,” said Zilla, casting a quick 
glance around her. “The Emperor shows thy 
noble father great honor in making him his 
friend, and wishing to have him near his person. 
By and by he will make him General , and 
then—’ ’ 

“And then what?” 

“It is nothing, my sweet,” answered Zilla. 
But it was not “nothing,” and the woman had 
only checked herself wisely; for she was going 
to say: “It is an easy step from that to the im- 
perial dignity, as the history of Rome can 
show. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ But I want him ! The Emperor does not love 
him half so well as I do,” was the fretful answer. 

“And now I remember!” continued Zilla, who 
was prolific in imaginary pretexts on occasions 
like the present; “the great games are going on 
at the Circus Maximus, the chariot-races, the 


88 


PALMS. 


elephants from India; and the gladiators are to 
fight. Oh! there are to be grand spectacles, and 
the Emperor, and all the beauty and fashion and 
splendor of Rome with him, is to be present. 
Dost thou not see that it would not do for thy 
noble father Nemesius to be absent?” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I don’ t care for it all ! — I only want him ! ’ ’ 
she said, fixing her large, dreamy-looking eyes 
towards the far-distant spaces; then her head 
drooped on Zilla’s shoulder, and she was silent, 
except when a sigh, which was half a sob, es- 
caped her half-parted lips. 

‘ ‘ But the grand shows must be nearly over by 
this time, and I am sure that we shall see him 
soon, perhaps this very evening. I know how 
he frets at being kept from thee; and know, too, 
that if made Emperor to-morrow he would not 
stay away, could he with honor get off, ’ ’ coaxed 
Zilla, caressing the beautiful head reposing on 
her shoulder. 1 1 Come now, let us go and feed 
the doves.” 

“Yes,” she answered, rising, “let us go; he 
can not help it, I know. But he may come this 
evening. ’ ’ 

And her hope was verified ; for ere the sunset 
roses faded from the gold-fringed west her heart 
was made glad by his presence. 

Notwithstanding Zilla’s prettily-woven tissue 
of possibilities by which she sought to console 
Claudia’s sore heart, Nemesius was, in fact, seen 
no more frequently in the gay society of Rome 


PALMS. 


89 


than before, nor had Fabian Csecilius yet ap- 
peared. A lady of the court, who was a relative 
of the Emperor, and famed for her beauty, told 
Nemesius that his kinsman had gone to visit a 
friend at Ostia, and that his departure was unex- 
pected to himself until an hour before leaving. 
There was no reason to doubt the news, as Fabian 
was one of her intimates and admirers; but she 
could give no particulars as to the why and 
wherefore of his leaving Rome — a matter of little 
interest to her, so long as she had at length at- 
tracted the attention of Nemesius by a subject of 
mutual interest; for the beautiful Eaodice had 
long ago vowed to win the great soldier’s love, 
but until now he had persistently evaded her ef- 
forts, without meaning to do so, or seeming con- 
scious of her preference. 

She had been one of those most interested in 
the endeavor to discover why Nemesius so seldom 
appeared at the festivities held at the imperial 
palace, and other places frequented by the most 
distinguished and princely families in Rome. 
She had questioned Fabian, whose quick worldly 
perceptions read her secret; but he mystified in- 
stead of giving her correct intelligence, threw 
out hints that kindled her jealousy, and made 
her quite miserable. She discovered, from an 
emissary whom she secretly employed, that Nem- 
esius spent all his spare time at his villa on the 
Aventine. What was the attraction? For whom 
such devotion ? Who was her rival ? There was 


9 o 


PALMS. 


a vague whisper of a beautiful Greek lady who 
lived at the villa, for whom it had been converted 
into a place of splendor and enchantments. 
Slander is as old as sin, and in those far-off times 
of which we write, even as in our own day, this 
foul bird chose the fairest, ripest fruit to peck at 
and feast upon. And so it came to pass that, 
from various motives — curiosity, envy, and the 
designs of a silly woman — the untainted reputa- 
tion of Nemesius was secretly assailed. Some 
of those who were interested in the affair were 
inspired by a most ignoble motive, that of dis- 
covering something disreputable in a life whose 
noble purity was a conspicuous contrast and re- 
proach to their own. 

Eaodice had whispered her surmises to a con- 
fidential friend, who, in turn, repeated them to 
others, until the wonder grew, and finally 
reached the ears of the Emperor, who was not 
altogether incredulous, but rather amused by it. 
If true, the facts would bring his favorite nearer 
his own base level. But no one had been so bold 
as to question Nemesius, or so daring as to pry 
openly into his private affairs. Thus the gossips 
were left in a state of excited uncertainty, that 
added piquancy to the mystery which they 
fancied they had discovered, and were deter- 
mined to undermine. 

One day the Emperor, exulting in the idea 
that to him would belong the honor of finally 
exterminating the despised Christians, was in a 


PALMS. 


91 


gay mood, and disposed to enjoy himself. He 
was weary of his usual daily amusements; he 
was satiated for the moment with bloody, cruel 
spectacles, and craved something novel. ‘ ‘ What 
better, ’ ’ he suddenly thought, 1 ‘ than to go with 
a select party and surprise Nemesius with his 
new divinity? I will release him from his duties 
for three days; on the second day we will go; it 
will equal the best comedy.” 

Those whom Valerian informed of his plan, 
and invited to accompany him, were bound to a 
secrecy which they were well aware it would not 
be safe for them to break, except one, Fabian 
Caecilius, who had returned from Ostia just in 
time to be included as an invited guest in the 
frolic. Risking everything, he found means to 
convey information to his friend of the honor 
intended him, that he might have time to order 
the preparation of a feast which would be not 
only suitable to the occasion, but creditable to 
his hospitality; for well did Fabian know that 
there was nothing at the beautiful villa on the 
Aventine that would make concealment desira- 
ble; at the same time, he could not refrain from 
giving his kinsman a hint of the object of the 
visit, the joke was so good. 

Nemesius, with a sort of grim humor, gave 
his orders to the steward Symphronius, and 
everything was set in motion for the reception 
of the distinguished guests. The costly and 
tasteful interior decorations of the villa have 


92 


PALMS. 


been already described; add to them flowers, 
light, and music, and it will be easy to imagine 
the scene. 

When the elegant, ivory-panelled chariots, 
drawn by horses covered with trappings of 
silken fringe, their harness plated with gold, 
came sweeping through the great bronze gates 
up the chestnut avenue, Nemesius in the rich 
attire of a patrician was on the portico ready to 
receive his guests. 

“We intended giving thee a pleasant sur- 
prise,” said Valerian, with a frown, as he re- 
turned the salutation of his host, assured by the 
ceremony of his reception that through some 
babbler the little comedy he had planned was 
spoilt. 

“ A most agreeable one, imperial sir! It has 
been a day of delightful surprise: some old 
friends from Hellas, whom I have not met for 
years, have been with me,” answered Nemesius, 
who stated the truth. 

“We have left the Emperor in Rome: only 
Valerian is here, for his own private enjoy- 
ment,” whispered the tyrant, his brow having 
cleared at the explanation of Nemesius. 

It was a brilliant scene, that patrician crowd, 
standing in groups, or moving through the su- 
perb, lofty rooms — the men in their rich attire, 
the high-born ladies brilliant in all the arts of 
the toilette. The fair Laodice wore a tunic of 
pale yellow silk, confined at the waist by a 


PALMS. 


93 


cincture of precious stones, which fell in deep 
folds to the floor; loops of spangled gauze gave 
an airy grace to her costume without detract- 
ing from its classic outline, and her beautiful 
head was crowned with roses fastened to her 
hair with gold pins; while a necklace of pearls 
and bracelets of gold adorned her neck and arms. 

This was the style of dress which prevailed, 
but monotony was avoided by a difference in 
color according to the taste of the wearer; and 
the effect produced by the blending of rich 
and delicate tints in endless contrast, combined 
with the flash of jewels, was extremely bril- 
liant. The soft music of flutes, harps, and 
flageolets floated sweetly above the hum of con- 
versation and laughter, while a fine spray of 
perfumed water was by some cunning contriv- 
ance diffused in the air. 

‘ ‘ Our brave captain has become a Sybarite, ’ ’ 
said Valerian, with a coarse laugh ; then, lay- 
ing his hand on the statue of an ancestor of 
Nemesius (who had lived a simple life like 
Cincinnatus, except when called from his pas- 
toral occupations to win safety or glory for 
Rome), he added: “Does it ever strike thee, 
Nemesius, what the thoughts of his shade 
would be in scenes like this?” 

‘ ‘ I have not thought of him, except to be care- 
ful not to stain his great memory by act of mine, ” 
answered Nemesius, with a grave smile. “His 
austere mind, now I come to think of it, would 


94 


PALMS. 


doubtless regard our present mode of living as 
degeneracy. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 1 am thankful that the customs of the times 
are less severe than in those old days. A people 
must either learn refinement or remain barbar- 
ous,” replied Valerian, forgetful for the instant 
of the barbarous persecution of the unoffending 
Christians then in progress under his cruel edicts. 
“I quite envy thee this delicious retreat, Neme- 
sius ; it can not be that thou inhabitest it alone : 
there must be one to brighten thy solitude — at 
least rumor so informs us, — a divinity who com- 
mands the homage of thy heart,” added the 
Emperor, a wicked leer in his eyes, and mockery 
in every tone of his voice. 

The beautiful Laodice and two of her confi- 
dential friends had hovered near'Nemesius ever 
since their arrival, — Fabian Csecilius, with his 
deferential air and mocking smile, in close at- 
tendance on them. Until this moment they had 
heard no allusion to the object of their curiosity, 
and now listened with strained ears for the re- 
sponse. 

“Yes,” replied Nemesius, with that grave, 
sweet smile that imparted such an indescribable 
charm to his stem features; “report for once 
speaks truly : one shares my solitude, who holds 
my heart and commands its devotion, — one to 
whom I am bound by the strongest and most 
tender ties.” 

The face of Laodice grew white under the 


PALMS. 


95 


cosmetics by which she had sought to make it 
more beautiful, until its aspect was ghastly; her 
fine eyes flashed, and her pink, almond-shaped 
finger-nails pierced the soft palm of the hand 
half hidden by the folds of her robe. What 
stronger confirmation was needed of the truth of 
her suspicions than his own very word, so shame- 
lessly uttered? So intently was her attention 
directed to the Emperor and Nemesius, to catch 
the least word that might follow, that she did 
not observe the cynical smile on Fabian’s coun- 
tenance, or the sparkle of mirth in his usually 
fathomless eyes, as he stood watching her. By 
a strong effort, however, she mastered her pas- 
sionate emotion, and her countenance resumed 
its usual aspect. 

What we have tal^en so long to tell occupied 
scarcely two seconds ; for Valerian is saying in 
reply : ‘ ‘ The charm of our visit will be incom- 
plete without a glimpse of this divinity. By 
Eros ! thou hast moved my curiosity beyond 
bounds to see one who holds our brave Stoic in 
such thrall.” 

Then other voices plead ; the gay company, 
attracted by the animated circle around the Em- 
peror and their host, joined the group, express- 
ing in courtly phrases their desire to offer their 
homage to the peerless being at whose feet the 
brave and distinguished soldier had laid his heart 
and his laurels. Fabian exchanged one quick 
glance with his friend. 


PALMS. 


9 6 

“Wouldst thou see her now, or after the ban- 
quet?” asked Nemesius. 

“At once. We want no distracting element 
at the feast,” answered Valerian, with a coarse 
laugh. 

“I will bring her,” said Nemesius, bowing 
with stately grace as he turned away. The gay 
throng made way for him, and watched his 
noble figure until he disappeared behind a silken 
curtain that draped an entrance to the private 
family apartments of the villa. 

Some of the noble matrons present began to 
look severe ; Laodice, inwardly raging, wore a 
slight frown that enhanced her imperious beauty, 
while she and her two friends interchanged sati- 
rical and sneering remarks in relation to the par- 
agon they were so soon to behold. Some faces 
were eager with curiosity, others were smiling 
and scornful ; there were those who giggled and 
felt idly indifferent, and a few whose hands were 
ready to draw aside their garments when she 
passed ; while the young patricians exchanged 
significant glances, or looked supremely indif- 
ferent. 

The guests had not long to wait. The rich 
drapery was again thrown back, and Nemesius 
reappeared, followed by a woman who led by the 
hand a lovely child of some seven summers. 
The woman wore a dark robe ; her severely 
classic face was like Parian marble ; her black 
silken hair, threaded with white, was gathered 


PALMS. 


97 


in a loose knot at the back of her head, where 
it was secured by a small jewelled stiletto. Un- 
abashed by the number of eyes that scanned her 
with questioning glances, she advanced with the 
mien of a captive queen, leading the child, who, 
in her white diaphanous tunic sprinkled with 
woven dots of silver, her girdle of pearls, and 
her long-flowing golden curls garlanded with 
violets, was a vision of perfect loveliness and 
purity. Lifting her in his arms, Nemesius pre- 
sented her to the Emperor. 

‘ ‘ This is she whom thou hast asked to see, 
my little motherless daughter Claudia. She has ^ 
been blind from her birth, ’ ’ he added, in a whis- 
per ; then aloud, turning towards his expectant 
guests : ‘ ‘ The lady of my love, to whom my life 
is vowed.” 

There was no reproach in his tone, and his 
countenance wore a smile of indescribable ten- 
derness, which none who looked upon it had 
ever seen there before. 

For a brief moment the coarse nature of Vale- 
rian shrunk before such angelic innocence ; a 
singular vibration in his corrupt heart asserted 
an original but almost extinguished instinct of 
human feeling, and he spoke gently — as gently 
as his rough voice permitted — to the beautiful 
child, whose large brown eyes were gazing 
blankly abroad ; then lifting her dimpled hand 
to his lips, he kissed it, exclaiming as he released 
it: 


4 


9 8 


PAI*MS. 


“A mate for Cupid, by Fidius ! Between 
tliem they’ll make mankind mad some day. 
We expected something different from this, my 
brave Nemesius ; we are defrauded of our com- 
edy; but, by the mother of the gods ! a divinity 
like this makes it excusable.” 

Strange to say, Valerian was secretly pleased 
to discover that his estimate of his favorite’s 
character was not at fault, and that let the world 
wag as it might, his Nemesius was Nemesius still. 

The eyes of Taodice sparkled with joy and re- 
newed hope ; for she imagined that through his 
affection for his child she would find the most 
salient point of attack to vanquish and bring 
him to her feet. All present were more or less 
touched by the scene they had just witnessed, 
which so strongly appealed to their warm, emo- 
tional natures ; every one felt a sentiment of 
pity for the blind child, and wished to offer lit- 
tle caresses and kind, endearing words. Fore- 
most among them, Taodice approached, and en- 
deavored by sweetest wiles to beguile her from 
her father’s arms to her own ; but clinging to 
his neck, she refused the proffered blandish- 
ments. The strange voices, the strange hands 
that touched her ever so softly, the outflow of 
strange magnetisms to which her delicate organ- 
ization was peculiarly sensitive, agitated her; 
her lips quivered, her heart beat quickly and 
loud. Nemesius felt her trembling like an as- 
pen leaf; and, fearing that she would be quite 


PALMS. 


99 


overcome should her stay be prolonged, after a 
whispered word of explanation to the Emperor, 
he gave her into the care of Zilla. 

The faithful nurse bore the little Claudia away 
out of the heated, perfumed atmosphere ; out of 
the villa, down through the gardens, where the 
fountains sparkled in the last rosy splendors of 
departing day — on and on, until the cascade was 
reached, where, resting together on their favo- 
rite mossy couch, both remained silent, until the 
fluting of the nightingales and the silvery sounds 
of the dancing water brought peace to the child’s 
heart, and tranquillity to her perturbed nerves; 
then she asked a thousand questions as to the 
occasion in which she had been so unexpectedly 
and involuntarily a participant, all of which 
Zilla answered with her usual tact, and, no 
doubt, some stretches of the imagination, re- 
quired by the exigencies of the case. 

Meanwhile the banquet was served, to the im- 
mense relief of Valerian, who began to feel 
bored as well as hungry ; he occupied the place 
of honor, the rest of the company reclining on 
their couches, according to their rank. A per- 
fumed mappa was handed to each guest, who 
spread it over his breast, and after the removal 
of the last courses, the snow-cooled wines were 
brought on — red wine, white wine, black wine, 
and wine like liquid, transparent gold, and old 
Falernian ; and for those whose taste fancied 
them, mulsum , a mixture of new wine and 


IOO 


PALMS. 


honey, and calda , a drink made of wine, hot 
water, and spices. 

Symphronins, presiding over all the arrange- 
ments of the feast, was in his glory ; his mas- 
ter’s wines were his boast and the pride of his 
life, and years had passed since such an oppor- 
tunity as this had presented itself to have them 
tasted, praised, and envied. While the gold and 
crystal goblets were being arranged in due order 
upon the tables, slaves entered, who touched the 
hair of each guest with nard, which left a deli- 
cious perfume ; these were followed by others, 
who bore chaplets of roses, myrtle, ivy, parsley, 
and violets, with which they crowned those 
present. Then libations were poured, and the 
wine was passed. 

At this stage the ladies left the table to par- 
take of fruits and confections al fresco , their 
enjoyment heightened by the music of lutes 
and flageolets by unseen performers, and where, 
unrestrained by ceremony and the presence of 
the men, they gave rein to their mirth and 
their tongues, scandal, ridicule, and gossip rul- 
ing the hour. 

Symphronius was radiant with exultation; for 
had he not heard the wines praised without stint 
even by the Emperor? had he not seen them 
drunk as only epicures drink? tasted with de- 
light to the last delicious drop, and in modera- 
tion, to prolong the pleasure, and preserve the 
sensitive integrity of the palate? These pure 


PALMS. 


IOt 


wines exhilarated the spirits, and called forth 
sparkles of wit, jest, and merriment; but to have 
indulged one’s self to drunkenness at a Roman 
banquet like this would have been considered not 
only an insult to the sacred rite of hospitality, 
but to one’s entertainers, — proving that in some 
of their social customs these refined pagans might 
be profitably imitated. 

The moon had risen, full-orbed and unclouded, 
by the time the guests of Nemesius departed 
from the villa. For a single moment Fabian 
Caecilius and himself found an opportunity to 
exchange a word, the chariot of the Emperor 
having just driven off. 

“What has become of the Jew, Ben Asa?” 
whispered Nemesius. 

“ The infernal gods only know! I believe the 
earth has opened and swallowed him. He has 
not been in Rome for many months, or I should 
have seen him,” quickly replied Fabian, under 
his breath, as he hastened to assist the stately 
Eaodice into her chariot. 


102 


PALMS. 


CHAPTER VI. 

LIFE IN ROME — ELEAZER BEN ASA. 

The jealous suspicions which had made the . 
beautiful Laodice so unhappy being lulled to 
rest, she began with fresh zest to exercise her 
most fascinating wiles to captivate Nemesius. 
That he was reputed invulnerable did not deter 
her in the least, for the fact would only increase 
her triumph should her efforts to win him be 
crowned with success ; but he, all unconscious of 
her purpose, received her coquettish advances 
with such genuine unconcern, and an indifference 
almost verging on rudeness, that she was some- 
times furious, and again discouraged and de- 
spondent. If he ever gave her an after-thought, 
it was a regret that one so beautiful should be 
lacking in that delicate reserve which above all 
things enhances a woman’s natural attractions. 
She tried to reach his heart whenever the oppor- 
tunity offered, by showing a tender interest in his 
child, by affecting the deepest sympathy for her 
misfortune and his sorrow, by glowing praise of 
her loveliness, and oft-repeated entreaties that 
she should be brought to make her a visit, prom- 
ising that nothing should be spared to give her 
happiness; but Nemesius, knowing exactly what 


PALMS. 


103 

constituted his little Claudia’s happiness, and 
how ineffectual all efforts would be to give her 
either pleasure or content separated from himself 
and the simple joys of her home-life, felt it best 
to decline what he supposed was a well-meant 
kindness. 

In the egoism of his great love for his blind 
child, it was no surprise to the fond father to 
hear Claudia’s loveliness admired, and tender, 
gentle, pitying words spoken of her sad case — 
for who that once looked upon her could avoid 
feeling such sentiments? — but the voluptuous 
beauty of this woman, her languishing airs, the 
rich perfumes that made the atmosphere heavy 
around her, the magnificence of her attire, the 
profusion of her jewels, the half- veiled fire of her 
dark, handsome eyes, indicated to his keen per- 
ceptions not only a vain, shallow nature, but a 
something indefinable which awakened his dis- 
trust, and made him resolve to shield his guile- 
less one from her influence, however kind her 
intentions might appear. 

Many presents of rare fruits and delicious con- 
fections, with sweet messages, which could not 
be declined without offence, found their way 
from kaodice to the little blind girl at the villa, 
and at last, self-invited, she came in person to 
seek a better acquaintance with her, secure from 
the repulse of a cold reception; for she chose her 
opportunity for the visit at a time when she knew 
that Nemesius would be absent on duty, and 


io4 


PALMS. 


there would be no danger of her being surprised 
by his unexpected appearance, — her plan being 
to win the affection of his child without offend- 
ing his austere sense of propriety. 

After an absence of several days, Nemesius 
found himself at liberty to spend an afternoon at 
his home on the Aventine. The first joyous wel- 
come and fond embraces over, little Claudia, as 
usual, began to tell him how she had spent her 
time, and all that had happened during the interval 
of his absence. The most important events were, 
of course, the three visits of “the strange lady, 
who brought me flowers, and said many things 
to me that sounded kind, and tried to caress me; 
but I ran from her!” 

“Who was the lady?” he asked Zilla; but 
Zilla, not having heard her name, could only de- 
scribe her; then he knew, and while a flush of 
displeasure darkened his face, he only said: 

“She is kind to come so far to see such a 
lonely little one as my Claudia. ’ ’ 

“I am not lonely!” exclaimed the child, with 
a flush of angry emotion; “and I do not wish her 
to come again. I hate her! She made me shiver 
all over when she touched me. ’ ’ 

1 ‘ I can not forbid her visits, my child, ’ ’ he 
said, soothingly. 1 ‘ If she is the one I think, she 
is not only a beautiful lady, but a relative of the 
Emperor, against whom it would be rude to close 
my doors. Do not be unreasonable, little one, 
when one means only kindness to thee; for my 


PALMS. 105 

sake do not show thy aversion, but try to be more 
amiable should she come again. ’ ’ 

“For thy sake? — yes, to please thee I will be 
more amiable, ’ ’ the child answered, hesitatingly. 

The man’s heart was troubled within him; he 
did not wish his child’s guileless nature to be 
ruffled by a knowledge of evil, or her trust in 
human nature to be rudely disturbed; he had, 
therefore, suppressed all that he felt, but resolved 
at the same time to confide such instructions to 
Zilla and Symphronius as would prevent a con- 
tinuance of the intercourse which he thought 
best should cease. Then he tenderly kissed the 
sweet face pleadingly lifted towards his; he was 
satisfied that her instinct of aversion would be 
her best preservative, in case his precautions 
should fail, and she be again brought in contact 
with her unwelcome and self-invited guest. But 
underlying all, there was in his mind a secret 
premonition of the evil this woman was capable 
of towards any one who might incur her dislike 
or thwart her designs, which gave him many an 
anxious thought in the night of unrest that fol- 
lowed; and although he tried to persuade himself 
that he was mistaken and judged her unfairly, he 
resolved to be on his guard. Naturally unsuspic- 
ious, his impressions had greater weight, and he 
found it impossible to shake them off even when 
the bright golden sunshine of an unclouded sky, 
streaming through the vines that shaded his 
window, told him that another day had come. 


io6 


PALMS. 


As time sped on, nearer and more dear became 
his blind child to the strong, noble heart of Ne- 
mesius, until his affection had now grown to be 
the overmastering sentiment of his being, and 
she the one object before which all others were 
dwarfed and unreal. When with her, he allowed 
no hand but his own to guide and serve her; to- 
gether, the measure of their content was full; 
separated, each felt as if something had gone out 
of his or her life ; she was the sunshine, the 
music, the sweet pain and precious jewel of his 
existence, and their hearts were knit together by 
ties stronger than death. He had but one wish, 
one hope for her and for himself, which haunted 
him day and night — as well in the deep stillness 
of the silent hours as through all the turmoil and 
excitement of his daily life — like a low, persis- 
tent threnody attuned to the outcry of his heart: 
“Oh, that my child could see!” 

And he continued to pour out his gold with 
lavish hand for the renewal of burnt-offerings on 
the altars of Rome, for special intercessions to 
his deaf gods, for superstitious rites in the in- 
nermost sanctuaries of the temples by augurs 
and priests, for mysterious incantations and 
choral hymns by the Vestals as they circled in 
solemn measure around the sacred fire upon 
their shrines, — all, all was done, and the cost 
not counted, that her blind eyes might be 
opened; and, although of no avail, his loyal 
heart did not for a moment distrust the power of 


PALMS. 


107 

the gods — he only thought that through some 
fault of his own they had refused to be propi- 
tious. What, then, was required to appease 
their anger? He could not tell; for had he not 
done everything except sacrifice his own life? 
And how willing he was to do even that, on the 
least hope that it would avail, his own heart at- 
tested. 

Stung by this last disappointment of his 
hopes, frustrated, and almost despairing, the Jew 
healer of whom Fabian had told him was for the 
time forgotten, until one day, awakened by the 
natural process of reaction from his gloomy 
despondency, Nemesius suddenly recollected all 
that he had heard from Fabian about his won- 
derful skill. Again a glimmer of hope shone as 
if from afar, yet within reach, and he determined 
to seek him forthwith, and test his skill. But 
where was he? Fabian Csecilius had told him, 
shortly after the Emperor’s visit to the villa, 
that the Jew had returned to Rome; but since 
that occasion weeks had elapsed, and he had 
seen neither one nor the other. 

Obeying the impulse, Nemesius went direct to 
Fabian’s palace, and was informed by the porter 
that his master had been suddenly called to Ne- 
apolis on some urgent affair. Not satisfied with 
such meagre information, he directed the man 
to summon the steward, who promptly appeared, 
bowing obsequiously, and with deprecatory grim- 
ace, to learn his will. But when questioned, he 


io8 


PALMS. 


could only repeat tlie fact as stated by the porter, 
with the additional information that his master 
had named no time for his return. Nemesius 
was about to leave the house when the words, 
“But there’s a letter, noble sir, perhaps for you,” 
arrested his steps, and, confronting the steward, 
he said: 

“Where is the letter? Fetch it here, that I 
may see if it is addressed to me. ’ ’ 

There was authority in his air and tone, which 
suggested to the man’s dull mind that he had 
possibly got himself into difficulties by his neg- 
ligence; and he quickly returned with the mis- 
sive, which Nemesius at a glance saw was di- 
rected to himself. 

“Why was this not sent to me immediately?” 
he demanded. “The name upon it is plainly 
written, and there are none in Rome to whom it 
is unknown, so there is no excuse for its deten- 
tion. ’ ’ 

“None, noble sir; at the very moment you 
summoned me, it was in the hands of a mes- 
senger, who had orders to place it in your illus- 
trious hands. The delay was owing altogether 
to my master’s having charged old Bianca — a 
perfect marplot, believe me — with the letter, in- 
stead of myself; and what did she do but put it 
under a little silver statue of Prosperity, that 
stands on my master’s table, to keep it from 
blowing out of the window, while she gathered 
up his things that he left strewn over everything; 


PALMS. 


IO9 

and by the time she got through, she couldn’t 
remember where she put it, and has had the 
whole house in a stir searching for it; and it was 
only about an hour ago — on my veracity, noble 
sir! — that it was found. And I hope I shall not 
be blamed for the misdoings of an old woman, 
who has no merit to boast of except having nursed 
my master’s noble mother; and he is that soft- 
hearted about her, that if she burnt the house 
down over his head, he’d not even give her a 
frown. Will the illustrious captain be pleased to 
walk into the atrium , out of this scorching heat, 
while he reads the letter and refreshes himself?” 

Nemesius stood listening to this voluble stream 
of words without seeking to interrupt it; and al- 
though inwardly fuming, his countenance, as 
usual, showed no trace of his irritation, and he 
followed the steward through the vestibule into 
the atrium , preferring to be alone when he read 
Fabian’s letter. Here the delicious shade, the 
fragrant air, and the soft play of the fountain, 
brought instant and soothing refreshment; and, 
throwing himself upon a couch, he snapped the 
silk cords and seal of the letter with almost 
feverish haste to get at the contents. It was only 
a few hastily-scribbled lines, after all, that met 
his eye: 

“The Jew has again flitted from Rome. May 
Cerberus devour him! I go to Neapolis in great 
haste, but, unless the Fates decree otherwise, I 
shall be back within ten days. “Fabian.” 


no 


PALMS. 


Nemesius crumpled the scrap of papyrus in his 
hand, swallowed a draught of the cooled wine 
brought for his refreshment, and, drawing his 
toga around him, went away with a heavy heart 
to occupy himself with duties which, although 
revolting to his noble instincts, were, according 
to his lights, imperative on him as a loyal Roman 
and high official of the imperial Government. 

Just at this time several events occurred, at- 
tended by circumstance which gave a renewed 
impetus to the persecution against the Chris- 
tians. One day there was a special entertain- 
ment at the imperial palace in honor of 
Valerian’s birthday, at which all the most illus- 
trious, beautiful, and distinguished persons who 
composed Roman society were present. Among 
these was a noble matron, whose personal charms 
were only surpassed by her virtues and the dig- 
nity of her character. Her husband was a high 
official of the Empire, and they had two sons, — 
beautiful striplings, who both gave promise of 
a distinguished future. She was a daughter 
of the Ancinii, a family which had always 
ranked high among the old patrician houses of 
the Empire. 

On this occasion the noble lady appeared 
richly attired, as became her state, but also 
modestly, and was as usual the centre of all that 
was best worth knowing in the highest circles 
of Rome. Among those who aspired to her 
friendship and now thronged around her was 


PALMS. 


Ill 


Laodice, who would not be repulsed, although 
her advances heretofore had been civilly but 
coldly received. The apartments being over- 
crowded, the heat, combined with the stifling 
perfume of flowers with which they were pro- 
fusely decorated, became insupportable, and the 
beautiful matron Sabina fainted in the arms of 
her friends, who bore her to a couch, and were 
zealous in their efforts to restore her; none being 
more so than Eaodice, who, kneeling beside her, 
unclasped the jewelled cincture around her waist, 
and was removing the folds of spangled Syrian 
gauze from her throat and bosom, when a large 
ruby — a single stone set in gold of Etrurian 
workmanship — which was suspended from her 
neck by a long string of fine pearls, fell out in 
full view. * 

The size and splendor of the gem, gleaming 
under a strong light before their eyes, attracted 
the attention of the group around Sabina, es- 
pecially of Eaodice, whose passion for precious 
stones was so inordinate that, involuntarily, she 
lifted the ornament in her long white fingers, 
and, holding it up to the light, scanned the 
carving upon it, then, with a cry of horror, threw 
it from her as if it had been an asp. Another, 
moved by curiosity, examined it, and saw «rep- 

* Roman ladies of rank who were secretly Christians wore 
gems on which were cut the image of the Redeemer, or that 
of His sinless Mother. Very small images of both, in silver 
and gold, were also worn concealed on the person. 


112 


PALMS. 


resented on the face of the ruby, in fine, skilfully 
cut lines, the “image of Him who was cruci- 
fied,” and it was known by this sign that she 
who wore it was a Christian. The fact was in- 
stantly reported to Valerian, who, purple with 
rage, approached the noble lady just as she re- 
covered consciousness. 

“What means this, woman?” he roared, 
almost inarticulate with fury, as he held the 
gem dangling on the string of pearls before her 
eyes. 

She gazed upon the blood-red gleaming object 
for an instant, while a strange smile irradiated 
her features; then, rising and fixing her calm 
eyes upon his, she answered aloud, so that all 
might hear : 

4 4 It means that I am a Christian ! ’ ’ 

It was but a short distance from this scene of 
imperial splendor to the torture-chamber, and 
not far thence to the horrible dungeons of the 
Tullian, to which her broken body, still palpi- 
tating with life, was a few hours later conveyed. 
In one of them, twenty feet below the surface of 
the earth, shut in by immense walls reeking 
with noisome mildews, and closed overhead by 
a vaulted roof of stone, through which no ray of 
light could penetrate, no breath of air come to 
sweeten the foul smells arising from the great 
sewer underneath, that drained off the filth of 
the Mamertine, of which it was part — wet, cold, 
dark, and filled with creeping things, this noble 


PALMS. 


IJ 3 

matron, delicately nurtured from her cradle, and 
accustomed to all that was beautiful and luxur- 
ious, was consigned to perish, cut off from every 
dearest earthly tie, for her unfaltering confession 
of Jesus Christ. 

On the same day the palace of Sabina was sur- 
rounded by soldiers, and searched. Her hus- 
band and sons, being absent from home, were 
ignorant of what had occurred, and all that 
awaited their return. The quest of the perse- 
cutors was rewarded by a confirmation of the 
fact they had come to ascertain. What else did 
it mean but that the entire family were Chris- 
tians, when the intruders found upon the shrines, 
in place of the Penates who had so long reigned 
there, small figures in silver and gold represent- 
ing Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mother, and the 
Apostles? What more evident proof was neces- 
sary? On being arrested under their own roof, 
where the soldiers were in ambush awaiting their 
arrival, the heroes of Christ replied to the accu- 
sation against them by declaring themselves 
Christians, and glorying in their confession. 
The trial was made short by their resolute firm- 
ness: they were tortured, cajoled, bribed, tor- 
tured again, and finally condemned to die. 
They were sentenced to be turned into the arena 
with tigers from India, and when the hour came 
the Flavian Amphitheatre was packed. 

The circumstances, and the high rank of the 
victims, made the present occasion more notable 

4* 


PALMS. 


1 14 

than any which had preceded it. The Kmperor 
and his court, occupying their usual conspicuous 
place under gold-broidered and gold-fringed can- 
opies, presented an array of imperial splendor 
that dazzled the multitude. The appearance of 
the victims in the arena, in short white tunics, 
girdled about the waist by a cord, — handsome, 
of noble bearing, full of dignified courage and 
high resolve, — was greeted with a savage roar, 
with outcries and yells from the tens of thou- 
sands who were present to enjoy the spectacle, 
and who were hushed to a breathless silence only 
when the iron door that separated the cages of 
the wild beasts from the arena was thrown open, 
and, through the bars that still withheld them, 
the tigers were seen ramping and raging about 
the narrow space that confined them, while the 
sound of their savage growls filled the Amphi- 
theatre. 

At length — how long it seemed to those who 
thirsted for blood! how long to those who 
awaited the moment of eternal deliverance and 
triumph ! — the creaking bars were drawn aside, 
the tigers bounded into the arena, and, after 
making a short circle around the wide-open space 
in which they so suddenly found themselves, 
their lithe, sinuous forms undulating with won- 
drous grace as they moved, they suddenly halted, 
surveyed their victims, crouched, uttering low, 
savage growls, their eyes gleaming like scintil- 
lating flames, their red tongues lapping their 


PALMS. 


“5 

white-fanged jaws, and their tails swaying slowly 
to and fro. The delay was but for a moment: 
then followed the deadly spring, which buried 
their teeth and sharp iron claws in the unresist- 
ing flesh of the noble Christians, which had been 
set as a banquet before them. 

How it happened — whether tne people were 
suddenly and mysteriously touched by some elec- 
tric force of humanity which revolted at so cruel 
and unequal a contest, or experienced for the mo- 
ment the natural impulse of man against beast, 
which made them involuntarily take sides with 
the men who were being rent and torn by the 
tigers before their eyes ; or whether they were 
glutted with blood, and beginning to sicken at 
the sight of such horrors; or whether it was 
given as a sign and a warning to the imperial 
tyrant whose vile heart gloated over the inhuman 
spectacle — none may say: but all at once, by a 
sudden, simultaneous movement, the great mul- 
titude, who but a few moments before were raven- 
ing for blood, sprang to their feet, their hands 
upraised, thumbs turned down,* uttering roars 
that made the canvas roof of the Amphitheatre 
rise and strain its fastenings, as if a hurricane 
raged under it. But Valerian, enraged nearly to 
frenzy, turning a deaf ear to the voice of the 
people and a blind eye to their down-turned 
thumbs, signalled to the guards below that the 

*This sign expressed the will of the audience that the 
cruelties of the arena should cease. 


n6 


PALMS. 


struggle should continue to the death, as it did 
— no, not to death, except that of the body, but 
unto a glorious and eternal life, whose joys it 
has not entered into the heart of man even to 
conceive! And so, not with despairing cries and 
moans of bitter pain, but with loud, exulting 
words of praise, the husband and sons of the noble 
Roman matron Sabina glorified their confession 
of Christ, and sealed their testimony with their 
blood. 

Nothing that had yet happened had so infuriated 
Valerian as the late demonstration of the people 
in the Flavian Amphitheatre. Was it a sign that 
the new false system was infecting the populace? 
In his secret soul he was afraid, and knew not 
whom to trust, since some even of his own house- 
hold, and others whom he had most honored and 
confided in, had abandoned the old sacred tradi- 
tions of Rome for the novelties which cast dis- 
honor on the gods and threatened a disruption 
of the Empire. His hatred of the Christians in- 
creased tenfold; he wished, with Nero, that col- 
lectively they had but one head, that he might 
destroy them by a single blow. Then he remem- 
bered that they had a chief bishop, their Pontifex 
Maximus, whom they claimed as their head — 
Pope he was called, — one Stephen, of whom 
Valerian’s spies reported many wonderful things. 
In his new plan of extermination, he vowed that 
this Stephen should be destroyed, and made a 
signal example of, to strike greater terror into 


PALMS. 


II 7 

the hearts of his followers. He would set a price 
on his head, and when he was put to death he 
would employ every engine of power at his com- 
mand to root out and exterminate the abhorred 
sect. 

To rout great armies and destroy kingdoms 
were the achievements most gloried in by im- 
perial Rome, the subjugation of nations her pas- 
time; but these arrogant heathen did not know 
that as long as time endured, the Pope, the head 
of the despised Christian Church, would survive 
all that the powers and principalities, assisted by 
hell itself, could do for his destruction. They 
believed the story of the phoenix, but failed to 
read the mysterious significance of the symbol. 

It is recorded that after the long and furious 
persecution under Maxentius and his associates 
in power, the former boasted that at last Chris- 
tianity was exterminated, and that ere the light 
of another day he would destroy the Pope, who 
had hitherto escaped the vigilant search of his 
soldiers, but whose place of concealment they 
had just discovered. This was on the eve of a 
great and decisive battle, on the fortunes of 
which he would win or lose all. Far into the 
night he threw himself upon his couch to snatch 
an hour’s sleep, after having arranged with his 
generals all the military minutuz of his plans for 
the following day, when word came to him that 
the Pope was slain. ‘ ‘ The gods are propitious !” 
he doubtless exclaimed, and accepting the news 


n8 


PALMS. 


as a sign of their favor, while a serene conscious- 
ness stole over him of having nothing more to 
dread from that source, he fell asleep. But when 
he marched at day-dawn, accompanied by a splen- 
did army in all the pomp and panoply of war, 
the invincible Roman eagles overhead, a mes- 
senger breathless with haste brought him the 
tidings that there was still a Pope , one having 
been elected as the other drew his last breath! 
Elected? By whom? The Christians, then, 
were not all destroyed, and the Pope lived ! The 
Emperor’s bronzed countenance grew pallid, his 
haughty spirit quailed within him ; for he in that 
moment realized that he had been contending 
with a mightier power than his own, and his 
guilty soul accepted the sad tidings as an omen 
of defeat, — an omen which was verified by the 
utter rout and min of his army before the day 
closed. * 

Leaving Valerian to vent his fury against the 
Christians, by issuing an edict against the holy 
Pope Stephen, and approving stratagems for his 
arrest, which were so well planned that his es- 
cape from their toils seemed impossible, we re- 
sume the thread of the narrative. 

One day, as he was mounting his horse near 

* Because certain historical events are so well known to 
the merest tyros in learning as to have become almost com- 
monplace, it is no reason why they should be omitted in a 
narrative of the times in which they happened, when needed 
to illustrate an idea. 


PALMS. 


119 

the Forum, Nemesius heard a gay and familiar 
voice behind him, and, turning his head as he 
vaulted into the saddle, saw Fabian Csecilius 
spring from his chariot, and, with a graceful 
wave of his hand, come towards him, his short 
curly locks bare, as was the Roman fashion, his 
fine white lamb’s- wool toga gracefully disposed 
over his rich attire, and his countenance wearing 
its accustomed bland expression of amiable cyni- 
cism. There was the usual crowd on the spot; 
much hurrying of those who were full of busi- 
ness, and loitering of idlers, who were there 
either for amusement or as spies ; and the meet- 
ing of the gay patrician with the illustrious com- 
mander did not fail to attract attention, both of 
them being well known by sight to the people. 

“I salute thee, Nemesius! Accept my embrace 
on trust, unless thou wouldst prefer my springing 
up behind thee, or thou dismount for it — only it 
is not worth the trouble,” he said, laughing 
lightly, while he drew as near as he could with- 
out getting his feet under the horse’s hoofs. 

‘ 1 Hast been taking a drive with Phaeton, and 
been dropped out of the clouds?” returned Neme- 
sius, with a grim smile. ‘ l Per Fidius! one never 
knows whether thou art here, or there.” 

“Here I am, at least for the present,” was the 
good-natured reply. “But hold! what in the 
name of iEthon is the matter with this bit? Thy 
grooms deserve the rack for such carelessness. 
See what they have done!” 


120 


PALMS. 


Fabian had suddenly seized the bridle, and 
drawn the horse’s head around. Nemesius leaned 
over to see what mischief had been done, which 
brought his face near that of Fabian, who was 
still fumbling with the bit at the expense of his 
jewelled fingers, which were bespattered with 
froth, the spirited animal resenting his famil- 
iarities. 

“It is nothing at all,” he said, in the lowest 
tone; “I only wanted to tell thee, without its 
being noticed or overheard, that the Jew is back. 
He has been to Capua. Expect him to-morrow. 
The stones have ears — the very air itself. Gods! 
what times to live in! There, it is all right 
now!” he said aloud, as he relinquished the 
bridle with which he had been trifling. 

“Thanks, Fabian; do not disappoint me, for 
my last hope hangs upon him,” whispered Neme- 
sius, whose hopes were once more rekindled. 

“I would commend thee, my Achates, to be 
moderate in that respect. The Fates hold the 
threads, and my experience has taught me that 
he who hopes the less gets the more. Now fare- 
well, my Nemesius! I am on my way to visit 
the fair Laodice, whose spells have not yet, I 
fear, subdued thy obdurate heart. Afterwards, 
lest thou shouldst deem me altogether frivolous, 
I am going the rounds of the porticoes, to try and 
discover if the philosophers have yet found an 
antidote for this miserable existence, the mortal 
necessities of which render life unendurable. I 


PALMS. 


121 


learn that some letters of Seneca have just been 
found in one of the confiscated palaces — original, 
it is said — and as his life was not of a piece with 
the austere morals of his pen, I may get from 
them a hint of what I seek. ’ ’ 

Nemesius laughed. Fabian’s affectations al- 
ways amused him, for he knew how keenly he 
sought and enjoyed the sensuous pleasures of 
life, and that he was at heart a perfect Sybarite. 
Then a quick farewell was exchanged, and they 
separated. 

With the Emperor’s permission, Nemesius 
spent the following day at his villa. That morn- 
ing when Claudia, half-awake, called Zilla, a 
soft kiss upon her rosy mouth and his voice 
told her who was there waiting beside her couch 
until she should stir from her slumbers. She 
was soon in readiness for a stroll with him 
through the fragrant, dewy gardens, loitering 
here and there beside the fountains, pausing in 
the shaded alleys to listen to the clear, sweet 
warblings of thrushes and nightingales; then to 
the dove-cote to feed her white-winged pets, and 
laugh delightedly when they fluttered caressingly 
to her shoulder, some alighting on her golden 
head, and others on her outstretched hand, — a 
group symbolizing Innocence fairer than sculptor 
had ever wrought, or Nemesius ever imagined, 
and which never faded from his memory. Then 
back to the cool atrium , to the light morning 
repast awaiting them, where, after pouring the 


122 


PALMS. 


customary libation as a thank-offering in honor 
of the gods, they partook of the meal with appe- 
tites to which the sweet morning air had given 
healthful zest. 

While the moments sped joyously on, the 
happiness of Nemesius was tempered by forebod- 
ings and expectation. Were his hopes to be re- 
alized, or forever crushed? Would the Jew 
appear? He knew that his thinking more or 
less would not alter or change matters in the 
least, but only unfit him for the issue, whatever 
it might be; so restraining his impatience and 
dread, he drew a roll of papyrus from his bosom, 
and began to read to his little Claudia the fables 
of one ^Esop, which had just appeared in Rome. 
Enchanted, she leaned against his shoulder, lis- 
tening to every word, and keenly appreciating 
the moral so wittily conveyed through the me- 
dium of beasts and birds, as well as of men. 
While they were thus engaged, Symphronius ap- 
peared, to announce the arrival of “an old man, 
who waits without, with samples of wine, and 
insists on seeing the master of the villa . 5 ’ 

“It is he whom I spoke some time ago, ’ ’ an- 
swered Nemesius. “Bring him hither.” 

“I beg my noble master to be careful of buy- 
ing wines at hazard from irresponsible persons, ” 
replied Symphronius, in a tone of remonstrance. 

“My kinsman, Fabian Caecilius, recommends 
him to me; but be assured, my faithful Sym- 
phronius, that no wine shall go into my vaults 


PALMS. 


123 


without thy approval ; for I put thy skill as a 
taster and judge before that of all the world,” 
said Nemesius; upon which the old steward, well 
pleased, bowed his thanks, and went away to 
bring ip the stranger. 

“Do not be frightened, my timid dove, when 
this man enters; he comes by my request, and I 
trust him. But perhaps thou wouldst prefer to 
go to Zilla for a little while?” said Nemesius, 
an imperceptible tremor in his voice, his brave 
heart strained to the utmost on the issue of this 
last effort to give sight to his child. 

“No! no! I would not leave thee for one 
single moment of this precious day; for when 
shall I have thee all to myself again? Let the 
old man — ten old men, if thou wilt — come : I am 
not afraid — here ! ’ ’ she exclaimed, with impetu- 
ous fondness, as she clung closer to him, his arm 
around her. 

Symphronius now appeared, conducting a man 
who, but for his bowed shoulders, would have 
been of stately height. He was clad in dark, 
flowing garments, and his head, which he un- 
covered on entering, was white; his features were 
cast in a noble mould; his large black eyes, while 
full of keen intelligence, had yet a furtive expres- 
sion, as if ever on the outlook for sudden dan- 
ger; and his hands, half concealed by the folds 
of his wide sleeves, were long and shapely. 
Across his forehead stretched an oblique scar, 
which, however, did not impair the dignity of his 


124 


PALMS. 


countenance. At his girdle hung several straw- 
covered flasks, which contained samples of rare 
wines. He made a low obeisance to Nemesius, 
who returned a gracious salutation. 

“Thy name?” he asked. 

“Eleazer ben Asa, my lord,” replied the Jew, 
in a low but distinct voice. 

‘ ‘ Thou art most welcome, ’ ’ said Nemesius, who 
then inquired as to the quality of his wines, their 
country, vintage, and age, with other questions 
familiar to epicures. The old steward was sum- 
moned, who brought small crystal cups as thin 
and transparent as air, and the samples were 
tasted, and found satisfactory. 

“But this surpasses all!” said Nemesius, tast- 
ing some which he poured from the last flask; 
“ it is worth an aureus a drop. Anoint thy lips 
with this nectar, Symphronius, ” he added, pass- 
ing the cup to him; “and leave the merchant 
with me to settle terms. I have no wines to 
equal these samples; take the flasks with thee, 
and try them all.” 

The steward, jealous of the reputation of his 
wine-cellar, put up his under-lip, gave one or 
two quick nods intimating that the assertion was 
doubtful, and bore the flasks and cups to his own 
sunny apartment, where after subjecting them 
to the most critical and approved tests, he was 
obliged to acknowledge himself vanquished — 
which somewhat lowered his proud conceit. 

In the meantime, this is what was passing in 


PALMS. 


125 

the atrium. As soon as the steward had left 
them (too well trained to return unless sum- 
moned) Nemesius said, in kindly, courteous 
tones: 

“ Be seated, I pray thee, Ben Asa.” 

But the Jew, who seemed not to hear him, was 
standing as if spellbound, his piercing gaze fixed 
on the blind child, whose head rested against 
her father’s shoulder, her beautiful, wide-open 
eyes staring blankly. Some memory, that 
brought with it a sharp and cruel pang, swept 
through the man’s heart, which turned his face 
like marble, and almost stifled his breath ; but 
it was only for a moment ; for he had been 
taught by fiery trials to hold his emotions under 
control, and appear as impassive as if he had no 
right to human passions. Presently, as if start- 
ing from a dream, he said : 

‘ ‘ I am at thy service, illustrious sir ; may I 
proceed ? ’ ’ 

“At once,” answered Nemesius, wondering if 
the Jew were not some dreamy visionary. 

“I have brought a pretty toy for thee, fair 
child, ’ ’ he said, gently, as he drew a small box 
from his bosom. “May I offer it, noble sir? It 
was fashioned by a skilful artist in Memphis, 
when Egypt was in her glory, and is mine by 
inheritance. It is very old, but it will please 
her, I think.” 

“Our friend offers thee a pretty gift, my 
Claudia; what sayest thou?” asked Nemesius. 


126 


PALMS. 


“His voice is kind and true: I like him. But 
why give me a thing he prizes himself? ” she 
asked. 

“It is thine, fair child; make me happy by 
accepting it,” said Ben Asa; then murmured in 
his native tongue : “It was hers who was so like 
thee; I thought, when I looked upon thee, that 
she had come back to me from the dead. ’ ’ 

While these inarticulate words escaped his lips, 
he had produced a small key, with which he 
wound up some fine mechanism inside the box, 
the lid of which suddenly opened, and a beauti- 
ful bird, its wings half open, sprang out, and, 
perching upon it, poured out the most transport- 
ing notes. 

Claudia’s delight was unspeakable; she could 
not be persuaded that it was not a living bird ; 
she touched it daintily with the tips of her fin- 
gers ; she felt its eyes, its open bill and the vibra- 
tions of its body, as the fine mechanism forced 
the wild trills and soft warblings through its 
throat. While she listened, her eyes distended 
with delight, the Jew suddenly flashed from a 
small, strong hand-mirror a sharp ray of sunlight 
full into her darkened orbs; but she neither 
blenched nor winked ; they might have been of 
stone, so impervious were they to any impres- 
sion. The bird sang on, she all intent, and Ben 
Asa produced a magnifying-glass of great power, 
and, leaning nearer to her, scanned her eyes 
through it, Nemesius watching every movement, 
as if life or death hung on the fiat . 


PALMS. 


127 


“Just a nearer scrutiny, and I shall be more 
sure,” murmured the Jew. “May I look into 
thy eyes, sweet child ? may I touch them very 
lightly? I will not harm thee.” 

Claudia turned her face quickly towards her 
father; her lips quivered, a vague fright dis- 
tressed her ; she could not understand why this 
stranger should wish to touch her eyes. 

“Thou wilt consent, my child? I wish it, and 
thou lovest me too well to refuse me so small a 
thing, ’ ’ he answered to her mute appeal. 

The bird was in a wild ecstasy of song ; the 
child felt her father’s arm around her, and this 
stranger had not awakened any subtile instinct 
of dislike : on the contrary, his voice and his 
accents were soothing. She had felt his presence 
at first, as she did that of every one who ap- 
proached her, either with repulsion or pleasure ; 
there was certainly no repulsion, but a singular 
impression of passive trust, sympathy, and sub- 
mission. 

“I am not afraid, and for thee — I would die !” 
she said, pressing her father’s hand to her heart. 
“Yes, do what thou wilt, sir, to my eyes, only 
do not hurt them ; for sometimes I feel a sharp 
pain, like a knife, piercing them. ’ ’ 

“Turn her face full to the light,” said Ben 
Asa, in a low tone; which being tenderly done, 
he proceeded with gentle touch to turn back the 
lids, and scan the beautiful blind eyes through 
a powerful crystal, the brave child remaining 


128 


PALMS. 


perfectly still and passive. The examination 
was brief but minute : he had ascertained all 
that he desired. 

“Thou hast a brave heart,” he said, as he 
opened a small gold flask, and touched her eye- 
lids with the liquid it contained, which diffused 
a delicious perfume around them. 

“Oh, that is very good! It cools my eyes, and 
how sweet it smells ! Thou art very kind, sir, 
and I thank thee,” she said, holding out her 
dimpled hand with sweet courtesy towards him. 
He held it for a moment in his soft palm, then 
bent down and touched it with his lips. 

‘ ‘ I would see thee alone, ’ ’ he said in an under- 
tone to Nemesius, speaking in Greek. 

“Come, my sweet one, we will go now to 
Zilla, and thou wilt tell her of the wonderful 
Egyptian bird, ’ ’ said Nemesius, rising. ‘ ‘ I wish 
to have a few words in private with our friend 
here, then I will come for thee. ’ ’ 

“May I take the bird to show Zilla, sir? She 
is my nurse, and I love her dearly. ’ ’ 

“The bird is thine own, lovely child,” was 
the gentle answer. 

“Oh, what joy!” she exclaimed, clapping her 
hands. “I can never, never thank thee, good 
sir, as I wish! Oh, when I take it to the cas- 
cade, to sing to the nightingales and finches, 
won’t they wonder and be jealous!” she an- 
swered, laughing cheerily, as with the precious 
toy in her hands she was led away by Nemesius. 


PALMS. 


129 


“God of my fathers!” said the Jew, with a 
burning glow in his eyes, that seemed to quench 
the tears that would flow; “it is as if I had 
looked upon the face of my own dead child, — 
dead on the breast of her murdered mother, near 
the Sepulchres of the Kings, whither they had 
fled for concealment and refuge, while I defended 
my house, not knowing they had left it — my 
Miriam and my little Ruth! The years have 
been as ashes to me since that day, and I live — 
for what? Hunted and cursed, earth has no 
resting-place for me; the floods have gone over 
me — ” 

Approaching footsteps echoed on the mosaic 
floor; the unhappy man controlled his grief, and 
when Nemesius resumed his seat, Eleazer ben 
Asa’s countenance was as calm as if no passion 
of grief had but a moment ago wrung its lines. 

“What hopes hast thou for me? — I have faith 
in thy skill. Half my fortune shall be thine if 
thou give sight to my child,” said Nemesius, in 
eager tones. 

“ How long has she been blind?” 

“She was born so; but surely thou hast skill 
enough to give her sight !” 

“I would give my life to do so, for she hath 
moved me strangely; but I can give thee no 
hope. No human skill can give her sight ; there 
is only One — ” 

“Even the gods have failed me; who, then, 
shall open her blind eyes?” 

5 


130 


PAL,MS. 


“Thou knowest, my lord, that I am a Jew, 
and hold in small honor thy gods and their 
fables ; there is only One, the Ford God of Israel, 
who by His Almighty power can raise the dead, 
and open the eyes of the blind. ’ ’ 

“The Christians say the same of Him — the 
Christ — whom they worship. ’ ’ 

“We know Him not as God,” responded the 
Jew, bitterly; “we trust alone in Jehovah, the 
God of Israel. Oh, that I had the power of a 
prophet] then would I call upon Him to give 
sight to thy child. ’ ’ 

“Thy words offend me; they are treasonable 
to the State, and dishonoring to the gods; but I 
have promised to give thee safe conduct, and it 
is much in thy favor that thou hast not sought 
to delude me with false hopes,” said Nemesius, 
in stern tones, in which there was as much sor- 
row as anger. ‘ ‘ I will bring back thy toy. ’ ’ 

“It is my gift to the blind child; it gives her 
pleasure: do not deprive her of it,” besought 
Ben Asa. “She cannot have too much happi- 
ness; and, if thou wilt permit it, I would advise 
thee to let her mingle with companions of her 
own age ; let her become accustomed to the stir 
of a life outside her own. Solitude is an evil 
thing for a sensitive organization like hers, espe- 
cially when she discovers the meaning of her 
misfortune. Farewell ! > ’ 

1 ‘ I can not have thee leave me without reward- 
ing thee for coming,” said Nemesius, haughtily, 


PALMS. 


* 3 * 

offering the Jew a purse cf gold, which by a dig- 
nified gesture he refused. 

“My thanks, then,” said Nemesius, holding 
out his hand. 

“I accept them, noble sir,” replied Ben Asa, 
grasping his hand. “I bear away with mein 
my heart thy child’s image: it is enough.” 

“I had nearly forgotten this,” said Nemesius, 
handing him a strip of parchment, which con- 
tained a line of writing signed by himself. “ It 
is thy safe-conduct. Show it only in case thy 
life is in danger.” 

“I will be prudent, illustrious sir, for thy 
sweet child’s sake, also for thine ; for thou hast 
shown me unwonted kindness. Again farewell!” 

Then, gathering his dark cloak around him, 
Eleazer ben Asa bowed his noble head, and, 
drawing his hood low over his forehead, passed 
out of the atrmm , leaving Nemesius alone with 
the grief of his dead hope. 


132 


PALMS. 


CHAPTER VII. 

LACHESIS SPINS HER THREAD. 

The surprising revelation that had been made, 
on the occasion of the visit of the Emperor and 
his friends to the villa on the Aventine, that the 
object of Neinesius’ devotion was only his own 
child, a little blind girl, had at first elated the 
spirits of the beautiful Eaodice to almost a sense 
of certainty, from the fact that her rival was not 
one to be feared; but as the days and weeks 
passed on, she realized the disagreeable convic- 
tion that she was no nearer the attainment of 
what she wished for than at the beginning. All 
her blandishments — the feminine arts which had 
never failed her before ; the flattering words, the 
alluring attentions, which had proved so resist- 
less to others; the tender language of her eyes, 
so easy of interpretation; the winning smiles, 
and low-toned voice breathing love — were all lost 
upon Nemesius, who was gravely courteous, 
making no distinction in his manner between 
herself and other ladies he was accustomed to 
meet in the imperial circle. She had not even 
the excitement of jealousy to divert her from her 
despondent mood: for this “man of stone,” as 
she sometimes indignantly called him, had no 


PALMS. 


133 


other love — ah! had he, how quickly, by ways 
she knew of, would she have such obstacle re- 
moved! — no, he had no love except his blind 
child, whom he worshipped. 

Iyaodice resolved to win the affection of this 
child, as the surest avenue by which to reach his 
heart; it was her only hope. And yet she hated 
the innocent Claudia, who, obeying some subtile 
instinct, had repulsed and shrunk from her twice. 
But she would dissemble; she would go to the 
villa again and again, and finally secure her ob- 
ject by the help of sweet words and gifts; then, 
if these failed, an amulet set in jewels, which 
she had purchased from a noted sorceress, and 
would persuade her to wear, would answer her 
purpose better still. However, when she went 
to the villa, it must be under another name, 
which she could easily assume, as she was a 
stranger (she imagined) to the household slaves; 
and her visits must be timed when Nemesius was 
absent, lest he should suspect her motive, and 
give her contempt instead of love. Thus she 
thought and schemed, and lost no time in the 
execution of her plan. 

It was not many days before the eagerly ex- 
pected opportunity presented itself. As a kins- 
woman of Valerian, and one of the ladies of the 
imperial court, Taodice had sumptuous apart- 
ments in the palace, which afforded her the 
advantage, either by her own observation or 
that of her confidential servants, of knowing all 


i34 


PALMS. 


that was going on, especially of the movements 
of Nemesius. One evening she learned that the 
Bmperor, with several of his chosen friends — 
among them Nemesius — was going for a day’s 
recreation to the Bago di Albano, and would 
leave at sunrise the following morning. 

Valerian felt the need of a change: his sleep 
was disturbed, his nerves unstrung; he pined for 
sylvan shades, the grand silence of the moun- 
tains, the refreshing, sun-flecked waters of the 
beautiful lake at their feet. He would go, leav- 
ing care behind him; but there should be no 
surcease of the shedding of innocent blood in his 
absence, of the frightful tortures of rack and 
flame, which sickened even his brutal heart. 
And he would forget, if he could, the intolerable 
dread that thrilled the marrow of his bones, when 
the wonderful and miraculous events which had 
attended the recent martyrdom of certain Chris- 
tians were reported to him ; for how could he tell 
the day or the hour when the same mysterious, 
invisible, vengeful power might, in horror and 
darkness, suddenly quench his own life, as it had 
those of certain judges and executioners, who 
were but the ministers and instruments of his 
will? 

That this man should have distinguished one 
like Nemesius not only by marks of the highest 
favor, but by really entertaining for him some- 
thing as near akin to affection as it was possible 
for such a nature to be possessed of, seems, at 


PALMS. 


*35 


the first glimpse, paradoxical, yet it was not so. 
False himself to the core, Valerian wanted the 
support of one that was true ; corrupt, he needed 
in intimate nearness to his person a nature of 
high integrity and pure loyalty, — one as brave 
as a lion, yet obedient to the laws from a noble, 
unselfish sense of duty, — not only of high cour- 
age as a soldier, but excelling in every quality 
that sheds lustre on the military character. 

These qualities, so antithetical to his own low, 
grovelling instincts, the Emperor had found in 
his handsome, grave commander of the Imperial 
Legion, whose reticence, and absence of the 
least sign of self-assertion on the score of his 
distinguished services, still further recommended 
him to his favor ; for especially jealous was Va- 
lerian of his generals, and others who were cele- 
brated for their military successes. His insight 
into character, rendered keener by the suspicious 
instincts of his nature, assured him that the man 
he honored was genuine and true, and possessed 
a sense of honor like fine gold tried in the fire. 
And, strange to say, hidden away somewhere in 
his heart — or that which answered for one — 
there was a chord which the pathetic loveliness 
of the blind daughter of Nemesius had touched 
on the day she had been so unexpectedly pre- 
sented to him at her father’s villa; touched as 
Nero’s sometimes was by the beautiful, which 
he sacrificed as lightly, to suit his mood, as he 
would have impaled a living butterfly whose gor- 
geous wings had delighted his eye. 


PALMS. 


136 

As planned, on the following morning the 
imperial party left Rome for the Lago di Albano; 
and Iyaodice, who had watched their departure 
from behind the drapings of a window, now 
waited with impatience the return of the confi- 
dential messenger she had dispatched to follow 
them, and bring her word when the cortege was 
at a safe distance beyond the walls. She moved 
about her splendid room, restless and furious at 
his delay; and it would be well for him, when he 
did appear, if the fine, sharp stiletto lying there 
on her toilet table among her jewels, did not 
make closer acquaintance with his flesh than 
would be agreeable. She wondered if he had 
fallen into a tufa pit — the Campagna was full of 
them; or worse, perhaps he had been arrested by 
some over-zealous guards, to whom it was not an 
unusual thing to be in advance of their duty. 
This idea dismayed her a little, and when, turn- 
ing from the window out of which she had been 
watching, she saw the messenger standing before 
her, her relief was so great that her anger was 
forgotten. Not that she had cared for the man’s 
safety, faithful slave though he was; but she 
feared that if arrested, and threatened with the 
lash or the torture, some of her own secrets 
might be betrayed. He informed her that the 
imperial party had passed the last arches of the 
Claudian Aqueduct before he left the Campagna; 
that going and returning on foot had delayed 
him; he had not intended to go so far, but 
wanted to be on the safe side. 


PALMS. 


I 37 


She tossed him a silver coin, gave him a mes- 
sage to her groom to have her new chariot in 
waiting without delay, then dismissed him, and 
began to array herself for her drive, dispensing 
with the services of her attendants, whose pres- 
ence she knew would only exasperate and annoy 
her at a moment when it was her will to be un- 
disturbed. 

Her equipage, befitting a Sybarite, was ready 
before she was, and no wonder the passers-by 
stopped to gaze on its splendor. Low hung, and 
panelled in ivory set in fine, gilded carving, no 
one had seen its like; it was of the very latest 
style, brought from eastern parts. The spokes 
of its broad wheels were carved and gilded; the 
gleam of gold was on every part — in the broideries 
on its soft cushions of scarlet silk, in the trappings 
and fringes and tassels that decorated the small, 
beautiful Spanish horses; while the garniture of 
the scarlet reins were small disks of gold, each 
capped by a gem. An adjustable screen of pea- 
cock feathers, like a large fan, could be so ar- 
ranged in any direction as to shade the occupant 
from the sun. The thing seemed fit only to bowl 
over a smooth marble pavement, or along the 
broad, level alleys of a pleasure garden; but its 
exterior was deceptive, for it was constructed of 
the hardest, toughest woods, clamped and knitted 
together with iron bolts and braces. 

The horses arch their graceful, silky necks, 
and champ their bits with impatience; they beat 


PALMS. 


133 

the earth with their dainty hoofs; their great eyes 
sparkle as they toss their heads, and the groom 
finds it almost impossible to restrain them, when 
Laodice, in all her queenly beauty, descends the 
broad marble stairs of the palace, and with su- 
perb, sinuous grace in every movement, ap- 
proaches, stops a moment to smooth the glossy 
flank of the near horse with her ivory-white hand, 
calls to the other caressingly by the pet name 
she had given him, while he arches his neck and 
neighs softly in response — then steps into the car- 
riage, sinks indolently down upon the cushions, 
and gathers the reins in her hands, whose wrists 
have the strength of a man’s. The horses’ heads 
are skilfully turned, and they sweep away, fol- 
lowed by vivas; for the Romans were never slow 
in their appreciation of a spirited act, or a beau- 
tiful spectacle. Roadice had with her a small, 
finely-woven basket, containing some dainty 
presents for Claudia, and the witch’s amulet, by 
which she hoped to work such spells as would 
crown her desires with triumph. 

It was a day full of the buoyancy of spring : 
everything was bursting into bloom and fra- 
grance ; leaves of white and rose-tinted fruit- 
blossoms drifted and floated on the sun-warmed 
winds ; the fountains tossed their spray so high 
that Iris cast the vari-colored meshes of her 
aerial net over it, until the air seemed filled with 
tattered rainbows ; the dreamy brightness of the 
Roman sky bathed every object, and countless 


PALMS. 139 

birds gave sweet voice to the exquisite loveliness 
of the day. 

Laodice, her face shaded by the screen of pea- 
cock feathers, leaned back on the luxurious 
cushions, in passive enjoyment of the exquisite 
brightness and fragrance which pervaded every- 
thing around and about her, while her horses, 
their first ardor spent, bore her more slowly 
towards the Aventine. Not that she observed 
in detail the perfect scenes through which she 
was passing, but their balmy influence rapt her 
senses all the same, while her thoughts were 
busy with the object of her lonely drive. 

Arrived at the villa, Symphronius received her 
with grand politeness and respect. 

U I have come to see the daughter of Neme- 
sius,” she said, preparing to step from her car- 
riage. 

4 4 1 am sorry to say, illustrious lady, that my 
little mistress is away ; her nurse took her to the 
sheep-farm higher up, for a change, the doctor 
having ordered it. Will not the noble lady 
alight, and permit her slave to serve her with 
some refreshments after her drive?” said the 
steward, with profound reverence. He knew 
that at that moment Zilla and the child were at 
the cascade, but he had recognized in this lady 
the person about whom his master had cautioned 
him. 

By a haughty motion of dissent, Laodice de- 
clined the hospitality of the villa, over which 


140 PALMS. 

she hoped to reign as mistress at no distant day. 
She ground her small white teeth under her 
closed lips, while an angry flush darkened her 
face, and kindled a scintillating spark in her 
eyes; and for an instant she could not command 
her voice to speak, until reflecting that Fate had 
been adverse, perhaps to prove her constancy, 
and that failure by no means meant defeat, she 
handed Symphronius the parcel of beautiful 
gifts she had brought, directing him to “give 
them to his little lady with the love of an un- 
known friend,” but reserved the witch’s amulet 
until she should come again, and suspend it 
about her neck with her own hands, while she at 
the same time whispered the spell. 

Then, turning her horses’ heads by a slight 
movement of the reins, Raodice drove rapidly 
down the chestnut avenue, through the bronze 
gate, descending at less speed the mountainous, 
rocky road. Once she raised her eyes, and be- 
held through an opening in the trees a vista of 
incomparable splendor, which for a few moments 
held her gaze. She saw all the splendor of 
pagan Rome outspread beneath her, and beyond 
its mighty walls the superb aqueducts stretch- 
ing away, throwing grand purple shadows on the 
sun-steeped Campagna, as it lay in the embraces 
of the Alban mountains on the east, and of the 
sea on the west, whose line of coast was defined 
by a band of silvery mist. 

It will be remembered how deeply the kind, 


PALMS. 


141 

aesthetic soul of Fabian Caecilius was touched by 
his first sight of the little Claudia, whose blind- 
ness, together with her exquisite loveliness, set 
his mind in revolt against Nature and the Fates. 
From that hour he gave his brain no rest in the 
effort to do, or get, or contrive something which 
would make her happy, and at the same time do 
her good. The Jew physician was his first at- 
tempt, and it had proved a failure. There was 
nothing he could think of that she did not 
already possess. His quandary gave him sleep- 
less nights, for his inner consciousness assured 
him that there was somewhere in the world the 
very object he desired, if he could only think 
what it was; and if he could, he would get it at 
any cost. 

One night, just when his mind was in a cha- 
otic state on the subject, there suddenly appeared 
to his imagination, with pointed ears erect, a 
small donkey, a diminutive creature, with slen- 
der ankles, and hoofs that would scarcely cover 
the palm of a lady’s hand. 

“The very thing!” exclaimed Fabian, with 
more delight than if he had suddenly discovered 
some wonderful gem of ancient art. “This will 
give her motion; she can feel its soft, silky coat, 
smooth the pointed ears, and feed it with dainties 
from her own hand. ’ ’ 

He knew where he could find one of the sort 
he wanted; for he had seen them on the Apen- 
nines and among the Cisalpine Alps, when some 


142 


PALMS. 


years before he had started off on one of his wild 
journeys, in company with certain officials, 
whose duty it was to inspect the military posts 
on the route known as Hannibal’s Road, which 
led over mountain ranges, through trackless for- 
ests, frozen snows, and other perilous obstacles, 
the prospect of which, so far from deterring Fa- 
bian, made him still more determined to go; for 
was he not going in pursuit of knowledge? And 
now, after a decade, the result of all the hard- 
ships he had endured, and the perils he had es- 
caped, was — a donkey ! The. gods, he thought, 
had certainly directed all things connected with 
that journey to this end. 

The next day he bestirred himself, secured a 
trusty agent, provided him with passports, gold, 
letters of safe-conduct from the various officials 
to governors, prefects, and others along the 
route, and himself saw the man, well mounted, 
beyond the walls of Rome, on the way to do his 
errand. No fear of his not succeeding, with the 
instructions he had received, and the rewards 
that had been promised him; he would come 
back with that donkey as surely as the sun shone. 

Months passed; spring, and the long, sweet 
summer, were over; September, with its rich vin- 
tage, its jovial, garlanded processions, was closing 
in; but no news had yet reached Fabian from the 
man whom he had sent on what appeared to be 
a fool’s errand. He supposed he must have fal- 
len into one of those fathomless ice-clefts which 


PALMS. 


*43 


are common on the stupendous heights he was 
obliged to traverse, or that an avalanche had 
buried him, or that he had been frozen to death 
in some savage solitude beyond the reach of hu- 
man aid. He could not tell how it had been, 
but he gave him up as lost, and straightway be- 
gan to make arrangements to dispatch another 
messenger, when one day the agent made his ap- 
pearance as unconcernedly as if he had just come 
from his sheep-cot on the Campagna. He in- 
formed Fabian that he had succeeded in his 
errand, and that the donkey — the smallest and 
prettiest ever born — was in the stable, with 
plenty of good feed, and a soft bed to sleep on 
after his long, tiresome journey. 

The man accounted for his prolonged absence 
by relating the difficulties he had encountered 
going and coming, the latter being the worst, as 
one night his horse had slipped and broken his 
deck in an ice-chasm, near a place where he had 
encamped. Then he was obliged to travel more 
slowly, for the donkey was so young that he 
could not stand being over- fatigued ; and, be- 
sides this, he himself was constantly getting be- 
wildered and lost on the great mountains, and 
would no sooner find his way into a valley (where 
the people were sometimes friendly, but oftener 
not), than there’ d be other and higher mountains 
to climb, where he’d get lost again. At last, 
thanks to the gods ! he reached the plains of 
Italy. 


144 


PALMS. 


All this, and much more, he related to Fabian, 
who, tasting his Falernian now and then, en- 
joyed the recital as much as if he were listening 
to scraps from a pastoral poem. Needless to say, 
the faithful fellow was liberally rewarded, be- 
sides being highly elated by the interest with 
which Fabian had listened to his account of the 
perils and narrow escapes of his journey, and the 
praise he bestowed on his courage and persever- 
ance. After enjoying a hearty meal in the 
kitchen, where the best that was in the larder 
had been set before him by Fabian’s order, he 
went home rejoicing; for now could he not buy 
the two sheep of that fine breed just introduced 
from Britain, for which he had been longing, 
put up a new shed to his house, buy Baiba a robe, 
and give the children some coppers to see the 
shows? 

Never was donkey so luxuriously lodged, fed, 
and groomed, or so carefully and patiently 
trained; for he was the pet and the wonder of 
the stables. The result was that he grew plump, 
that his coat and his long ears were like satin, 
and that soon docility took the place of the ob- 
stinacy ingrained in the nature of his kind. In 
the meantime the daintiest and most beautifully 
garnished trappings that could be devised were 
made for him ; also a narrow, scarlet leather col- 
lar for his neck, from which depended a number 
of small silver bells, each one differing in tone. 

Such was the gift which Fabian Caecilius had 


PALMS. 


H5 


racked his brain and expended his energies and 
gold to procure for his little blind favorite on the 
Aventine; and now, all things being in readi- 
ness, ‘ ‘ Grillo ’ ’ was conducted to the villa, where 
Fabian, with Nemesius, awaited his appearance. 
When told of her present, Claudia was in her 
father’s arms ; she passed her hands over the 
silky coat of the diminutive donkey, and felt its 
long, smooth ears, pointed like a faun’s, and was 
at last persuaded to let herself be seated on the 
cushioned saddle; then, while she held close the 
hand of her father, Fabian, beaming with de- 
light, led the beast along the terrace. She gasped 
once or twice, and nearly lost her breath — it was 
so new to her, being borne as it were through the 
air; but after a moment, knowing how safe she 
was, with her father close by her side, with Zilla 
near, and Fabian leading the strange little crea- 
ture, she laughed, smoothed its neck, caressed 
the long, nodding ears, and chattered gayly. 
Then down the chestnut avenue to the bronze 
gates, and back, her two guides enjoying her de- 
light like boys out for a holiday; and Symphron- 
ius laughing until it was a question how his 
rotund old body could recover from such an un- 
usual quaking. 

‘ ‘ Oh, my child ! my bird of beauty ! how good 
it is to see thee so happy!” murmured the faith- 
ful Zilla, as she stood apart watching them, and 
smiling as she had not done for years. 

After this the little Claudia required no per- 
5 * 


PALMS. 


146 

suasion to mount Grillo, and, with Zilla to guide, 
go through the beautiful gardens to the spots she 
loved most, and introduce him to her birds, the 
cascade, and her doves. In these golden days 
Zilla often wondered, as she gazed fondly on the 
child’s faultless loveliness, if Fate itself would 
not relent, and turn aside any cruel shaft that 
might be aimed at her innocent life, should the 
future hold behind its veil an evil fortune. 

On the morning already mentioned, when 
Laodice, after having met Nemesius, was slowly 
and dreamily wending her way up the steep as- 
cent, Fabian had appeared early at the villa, to 
persuade Claudia, attended by Zilla and himself, 
to go on a pleasant expedition to the old Temple 
of Jupiter, where they would have an al fresco 
collation. It went without saying that the little 
one was to ride Grillo, who by this time knew 
her voice, and the touch of her soft hand. It 
sounded pleasant to Claudia, who was in the 
mood to yield to his winning words and persua- 
sive tones ; and Zilla seeing no reasonable objec- 
tion to the plan, they were soon ready, and off, 
with a musical jingle of silver bells, and the 
sweet sounds of childish laughter. Symphronius 
stood looking after them, his old face beaming 
with enjoyment, until they passed through the 
bronze gates, and out of sight; then he proceeded 
to fill a pannier with tempting viands and a bot- 
tle of old Falernian, which he dispatched by one 
of the slaves, to whom he gave orders not to 


PALMS. 147 

“stop even to draw breath” until he reached 
the Temple. 

It was here Laodice found them, on rounding 
the curve of the road which led to the spot. 
Fabian turned quickly at the sound of her 
horses’ feet, and seeing who it was, greeted her 
with his usual airy grace. She, perceiving at a 
glance who his companions were, returned the 
salutation with gracious smiles; then drawing 
the rein with skilful hand, her horses glided to a 
full halt near them. Fabian led Grillo with his 
lovely burden to the side of her carriage, saying: 

“This is my little cousin, the daughter of Ne- 
mesius. Thou hast not forgotten her?” 

Faodice put out her hand, and laid it caress- 
ingly on Claudia’s, who involuntarily shrunk 
from her touch. 

“I have not forgotten her; how could I?” she 
said, sweetly. 

“Nay, my Claudia, this lady is a friend,” said 
Fabian, observing her slight gesture of repulse 
— “the lady Faodice, who is very fond of thee.” 

Then Claudia held out her hand, the instincts 
of good breeding and the thought of her father 
raising her above her antipathies. 

“I am pleased to meet thee once again, dear- 
est child,” said Faodice, folding the soft, dimpled 
hand in her own; then raising it to her lips: 
“and so charmingly mounted on a little steed, 
which for beauty and size I have never seen 
equalled ! ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


148 

The child recognized the voice, and the same 
intense repulsion rose within her; but had not 
her father told her that, should they meet again, 
she must not reject her kindly-meant civilities? 
And had not the lady been good and generous 
since, bringing her gifts, and telling her many 
beautiful things that were pleasant to hear? Did 
she not mean kindly? These thoughts passed, 
swifter than light, through Claudia’s mind; there 
was scarcely a moment’s interval between what 
Taodice said and her reply. 

“I am very glad,” she answered gently, “thou 
likest Grillo. Is he not beautiful?” 

‘ ‘ He is enchanting ! I have seen dwarfs of all 
sorts, but never one so exquisite as this. I 
should think him a cunningly-devised toy, were 
it not for his great, intelligent eyes. Where did 
the bewitching creature come from ? ’ ’ 

“Fabian gave him to me,” she replied, simply. 

“Wouldst thou doubt my veracity should I 
swear that Grillo is but a piece of fine mechan- 
ism devised by a magician?” he asked, with a 
mocking light in his eyes, as he turned towards 
Laodice. 

“ If I could believe thee, I would lose no time 
in ordering one exactly like it, at whatever 
cost,” she laughed back. “Behold his long, 
silken ears ! They have a sign-language of their 
own, could we only understand it. ’ ’ 

Grillo must have known that he was under dis- 
cussion, for he showed his appreciation of it by 


PALMS. 


149 


giving vent to a shrill braying, so prolonged and 
frightful that little Claudia’s face grew white 
with terror, while the horses started, laid back 
their ears, and trembled like aspen leaves. Zilla 
threw her arm around the child, and Fabian, un- 
able to restrain his mirth, roared, Taodice was 
nearly frozen with horror while the absurd 
trumpeting lasted. No one present had ever 
heard the like; but it ceased, and Grillo reared 
his head and waved his ears in approval of the 
effort he had made to contribute to the general 
enjoyment. 

u Do not be frightened, little cousin; it is only 
Grillo’ s way of laughing and saying per BaccoP' 
said Fabian to the blind child, as soon as he 
could make himself heard, and control his 
laughter. 

Claudia’s hands were cold and trembling. 

“I do not like it; he shook all over, even his 
ears; I know, because I was smoothing one when 
he made that dreadful noise. Oh, Fabian! do 
not let him laugh again — that is — poor Grillo ! — 
when I am on his back!” she said, faltering and 
almost crying. 

“He shall not, I swear by Silenus, his an- 
cestor! Dost hear, Grillo? — never laugh in that 
way again when thy beautiful lady is on thy 
back!” said Fabian. Turning to Daodice, he 
was about to speak again, when he started, and 
exclaimed : 

“What has happened ? There is blood on thy 
arm ! Thou art hurt ! ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


150 

It was not blood, however; it was only the 
ruby amulet, pierced by a sunbeam, which had 
fallen against her arm as she lifted her hand to 
adjust the peacock screen to a position that 
would shade her eyes from the light. 

“That,” she said, looking down on the ruby, 
still glistening like a great drop of blood on the 
soft white folds of her tunic — “that is only a 
curious old jewel, not blood.” 

“It is exquisite!” remarked Fabian, examin- 
ing it with the eye of an experienced judge of 
gems, as Daodice held it up to him. 1 1 Didst thou 
meet Nemesius on thy way up?” he asked, care- 
lessly. 

‘ ‘ I saw him only for a moment. He invited 
me to visit his daughter, being so near; but I was 
on my way to the Villa Severus, to see what has 
become of my friend Julia,” she replied, without 
a change of countenance. 

“The gods have been good in arresting thy 
further progress, ’ ’ he answerd. 1 1 Severus and 
his wife went to Neapolis a week ago.” 

‘ ‘ The gods have indeed been good in bringing 
me so unexpected a meeting with friends I most 
desired to see. Do not feel flattered, however; 
as, although thou art high in my regards, it is 
Claudia who is the attraction ; is it not so, dear 
little lady ?” she said, turning to the blind child, 
who was still close beside her carriage, on 
Grillo’s back. 

“If it be so, I can only thank thee for thy 


PALMS. 


I 5 I 

kind words,” answered Claudia, who thought, 
“That is the answer my father would have me 
give. But, oh! how much I wish she had not 
come, for it has spoiled all my pleasure!” 

Laodice turned a piercing glance on the child’s 
face, but it was as calm as moonlight upon snow; 
she could read nothing there that afforded the 
slightest clue to what might be passing in her 
heart. Not that she cared much to know: her 
mind was too full of her own purpose; it had not 
once wavered from it since she had found her 
here so unexpectedly an hour ago. But her op- 
portunity was slipping from her grasp, unless by 
some bold and strategic move she could make it 
available ; for the Roman sun was growing hot, 
and soon it would be dangerous for her to remain 
in an open carriage, exposed to the burning rays. 
She would, therefore, be obliged to think of 
something quickly, or leave undone what was 
of moment to her to be done then. She cast her 
eyes around, and said, suddenly : 

“Fabian, I am going back: the sun grows 
hot. But before I leave, oblige me by cutting 
me a spray of eglantine from yonder ruined arch. 
Its bloom and perfume are so delicious and deli- 
cate, and these are the first of the season.” 

Glad to oblige her, and at the same time dis- 
play his grace, Fabian, after one or two high- 
flown compliments, hastened towards the ruined 
arch, whose crumbling rents and mouldy crev- 
ices were draped with the tender green sprays 


* 5 * 


PALMS. 


and delicate rose-colored blossoms of the eglan- 
tine. Zilla moved round from Claudia’s side to 
stand at Grillo’s head, not knowing what freak 
might seize him if left alone ; and at that instant 
Laodice, leaning forward, said in low, winning 
tones to the child, as she unwound the Etruscan 
chain from her wrist : 

“I am leaving thee, beautiful one; but, lest 
thou forget me, wear this trifle for my sake;” 
then, with a dexterous movement, she threw it 
over Claudia’s golden head, and the amulet lay 
gleaming against her breast. 

It was done — the witch’s amulet was bestowed, 
with swift incantation, on her for whom it was 
meant; and it was for Laodice now to await the 
working of the spell. 

What could Claudia do? Had not her father 
said of this woman, ( ‘ Do not repulse her kind- 
ness,” and was not his word a law unto her? 
How, then, could she, without being rude, reject 
her gift? But if she accepted it, should she not 
thank her? And while she was hesitating, her 
cheeks like a damask rose, Fabian came back 
with his spoils, and Laodice, almost frightened 
by her unlooked-for success, received the dainty 
sprays of eglantine, said a few graceful words of 
thanks, skilfully turned her horses, and drove 
off, unheeding the dark, frowning eyes, half 
shaded by her veil, that Zilla bent on her. 

“Nemesius must judge whether his child shall 
wear her gifts,” she murmured. 


PALMS. 


153 


All felt the relief of the absence of Faodice, 
and the moments passed merrily. Fabian said 
and did the most absurd things for his little 
cousin’s amusement; Zilla played on her lute, 
and sang the songs she best loved; then came 
the flower-decked feast, spread where the violets 
grew thickest among the grass; after this they 
fed Grillo from a gold plate, out of which he ate 
as complacently as if he had been accustomed to 
such elegance ever since he was born. 


x 54 


PALMS. 


CHAPTER IX. 

PRELUDES. 

Strangely enough, Claudia was unwilling 
to lay off the Etruscan chain, with its jewelled 
amulet, when, wearied by the fatigues of a most 
happy day, and very sleepy, Zilla disrobed her 
for the night. The marvellously delicate work- 
manship and intricate design of the chain, the 
facets of the great ruby, the pearls which encir- 
cled it, she had traced over and over again with 
the tips of her sensitive fingers, until the form 
of each was familiar to her senses, and she knew 
that they were beautiful. 

“Yes, my dear one,” said Zilla, in reply to 
her childish insistence, “they are indeed beauti- 
ful ; the chain might be made of spun sunbeams, 
it is so bright; and the ruby glows like a flame, 
and the pearls are white and lustrous. But, my 
child, the true worth of a gift depends on the 
giver; the most priceless thing would lose its 
value if presented by one who is false. ’ ’ 

Here again was the old, puzzling mystery of 
her life. How was it that Zilla could tell more 
of the chain and jewel than herself? Her fingers 
conveyed one thing to her mind, Zilla’ s words 
another. But why ask the riddle to be solved, 


PALMS. 


155 


only to be again baffled? As swiftly as the 
thought had come, just so swiftly did she banish 
it; then, throwing her arms around the pale, 
patient woman, and nestling her cheek against 
hers, she said, with a little laugh : 

“Thou art only jealous, I know; but never 
fear, good mother, for I love thee — I love thee 
above all the jewels in the world ! But she — she 
who gave me this ! — oh, no ! no ! How could I 
ever love one whose very touch makes my heart 
shiver! At first I would have torn it off, and 
thrown it under Grillo’s feet; but he — my father 
— bade me not repulse her kindness for his sake. 
And now — now I am glad I did not do so; for it 
is so beautiful that I like it — yes, very much. ’ ’ 

Zilla listened to her artless words, smoothing 
back the golden hair from her forehead with 
softly caressing hand; and, although not satis- 
fied, she forbore to urge her further, thinking it 
best that Nemesius himself should decide the 
question; and until then — perhaps not longer 
than the morrow — what harm would come of 
her wearing an ornament in which she took 
such delight? None, she imagined, unless it 
held some unholy spell intended to work evil to 
the child. She had, with keen perception quick- 
ened by her love, more than suspected the de- 
signs of Laodice, and believed she would hesi- 
tate at nothing to gain her ends; and might not 
this costly ornament be one of the instruments 
employed by her for the purpose — some potent 
magical device? 


PALMS. 


156 

While these thoughts were passing through 
Zilla’s mind, Claudia fell asleep, and, lifting her 
in her strong, tender arms, she laid her upon her 
dainty white couch. The flutings of a nightin- 
gale, full of vibrant sweetness and soft inflec- 
tions, thrilled the silence; and a moonbeam, 
drifting through the vine-draped window, cast 
its luminous whiteness across the breast of the 
slumbering child, just where the ruby, gleaming 
on her stainless robe, was stirred by the even 
pulsations of her heart, until, to the woman’s 
excited imagination, it appeared like a fiery eye 
watching and mocking her. Nor could she in 
the days and nights that followed, divest herself 
of the impression that there was something en- 
closed within the gem that threatened evil to the 
innocent one. 

Three days passed, and Nemesius was still 
absent; except this, there came no shadow to 
disturb the child’s life. She missed him, and 
longed for him ; but with a little sigh she bravely 
sought her usual pleasures, and listened with 
deepening interest to the daily lessons which 
Zilla read to her, knowing that this would best 
please him. 

One day Fabian came, bringing Claudia mes- 
sages of love from her father, and a promise to 
see her the moment his duties released him; 
then, her heart being cheered, he soon won her 
to laughter and merriment, as only he could do. 
He recognized with a scowl the ruby amulet 


PAL, MS. 


I 57 


hanging on her breast, but made no remark. He 
had his own thoughts about Laodice, and, being 
a man of the world, had easily fathomed her 
character; but why she should have given a jewel 
of inestimable value to this blind child, was be- 
yond his comprehension. He thought, very truly, 
that he could learn nothing then and there; to 
try, would be only expending the moments aim- 
lessly, which was contrary to his principles; but 
he would be patient and watchful until he found 
the clue to her motive ; and while he was seeking 
it, she should never suspect him, so entirely 
guileless would he appear. 

These conclusions were rapidly arrived at; 
then he caught the thread of what Claudia had 
been telling him about the young doves — oh ! so 
many that they crowded each other out of the 
cote, and made great trouble trying to get back 
into their right places; while the old birds flut- 
tered about making the most mournful cries. 
And she and Grillo were the best of friends; he 
had never laughed and tried to say per Bacco 
since that day he frightened her so. “And, oh! 
I forgot to tell thee that a thrush has built her 
nest right under the beard of Silenus, at the 
grotto; and Zilla says there are three little eggs 
in it!” 

Fabian laughed and encouraged her to chatter 
on; and she told him of her lessons, and how she 
and Zilla made garlands for the statues, and 
brought the dii penates the first and sweetest 
flowers that opened. 


PALMS. 


158 

It was a- strange study, the face of this man, 
with its expression of tenderness not unmixed 
with speculative wonder, as he gazed into the 
animated countenance of the lovely child. 4 ‘ Why 
can she not see?” he was asking himself. “Her 
eyes are bright and beautiful : what malign 
power has interfered to mar such perfection? 
By the gods ! it remains to be seen if the decrees 
of Fate cannot be made a negation in this case, 
by crowding her life with such overflowing ful- 
ness of joy that she will be happier blind than 
those who see. ’ ’ 

This was a new problem for Fabian, outside 
all the philosophies he had dabbled in; one not 
only vitalized by his real affection for the child, 
but by his love for his own peculiar process of 
reasoning; and to circumvent Fate in her regard 
should be, he determined, from henceforth the 
object of his life. And so it was that this 
Roman exquisite, this wine-taster of philosophy, 
this good-natured cynic, this man of pleasure 
and of varied learning, entered upon a task 
which, viewed from every point, was the most 
congenial he had ever undertaken. He was not 
religious according to his polytheistic belief, and 
often secretly questioned it, and would have liked 
to test it by something higher and greater; but 
he knew of nothing, so what mattered it, when 
life was so short? 

In the cool of the afternoon Fabian said fare- 
well to his little cousin, who had confided many 


PALMS. 


1 59 


loving words to him for her father, and went 
back to Rome to enjoy himself, and watch L,a- 
odice. 

After several days’ absence, Nemesius had a 
temporary release from his official duties, and 
hastened with hungry heart to his villa. After 
embracing his child, he discovered with the 
quick scrutiny of love that her face was trans- 
parently pale, and her movements languid. 
Alarmed, he questioned Zilla aside, only to learn 
that she too had observed the change ; but as 
Claudia complained of nothing, and was free 
from fever, she could in no way account for it, 
“unless,” she added, “the sudden hot weather 
has caused it.” Although this did not dispel 
his anxiety, he was willing to accept the possi- 
bility, especially since, revived by his presence, 
Claudia had brightened up, and was more like 
herself. 

“What ailed thee, my daughter?” he,, asked 
presently. 

“Nothing, nothing; only sometimes my head 
feels light, and my feet heavy, and I get tired 
when I walk much ; but Grillo helps — he would 
walk about the whole day with me on his back, 
and sometimes he paces all the way to the cas- 
cade without being led, the dear old Grillo !” she 
said, laughing. 

Nemesius too would have cast aside all further 
anxiety about her indisposition, had he not no- 
ticed the feverish glow that now crimsoned her 


i6o 


PALMS. 


cheeks and lips, and felt her heart beating too 
quickly against his arm. “It will not do to 
question her, lest it alarm her,” he thought; 
4 4 but in the morning the most skilful physician 
in Rome shall see her. ’ ’ 

A heavy sadness stole over the fond father; 
sorrowful memories crowded his mind, and an 
indefinable dread, like the leaden stillness that 
portends the storm, seized upon him. With a 
strong effort he shook off the intolerable and op- 
pressive shadow, feeling as if he had just awak- 
ened from a horrible dream. It had only lasted 
a few moments, and Claudia’s voice sounded to 
him like the sweetest music; for she had gone 
on talking, thinking by his silence that he was 
listening to every word she uttered. 

“Who brought thee this costly gift, dear 
child ? It is rarely beautiful, ’ ’ he said, as by a 
quick movement of hers the ruby amulet flashed 
into the light, and he held , it up by the rich 
Etruscan chain for a nearer view. 

“Oh! I had forgotten! I meant to- tell thee, 
my father. That lady to whom thou didst say 
I must be polite for thy sake, gave it to me the 
day Fabian took me to the old Temple. She 
was on her way to the villa of a friend when she 
saw us, and stopped a little while. She said she 
had met thee on the road near our gates, and 
that thou didst invite her to pay me a visit, but 
that she had another engagement, and would 
have to defer the pleasure. Then when she was 


PALMS. 


161 


going away she threw the chain over my head, 
and said I must wear it for her sake; and before 
I could take it off to give it back to her, she had 
driven away. What could I do, my father? I 
would have thrown it under Grillo’s feet, if I 
had not remembered thy words; and then when 
I found out how beautiful it was, I liked it, and 
would wear it, although Zilla did not wish me 
to.” 

That was her artless story, repeated slowly 
and with sleepy pauses, as if it were difficult to 
recollect. 

The dark face of Nemesius flushed, and there 
was a momentary scintillation in his eyes as he 
listened. Tike the rest of the pagan world, he 
was superstitious, placing faith in spells and 
charms of magic; and, but for the absence of a 
motive in this instance, he would have believed 
that the curious jewel had some occult property 
which was working evil to his dear one; at any 
rate, he determined that she should no longer 
wear it. 

“ I do not like thee, love of my heart, to wear 
a gift so costly as this from a stranger, however 
kindly meant. Will it pain thee to part with 
it?” he said, tenderly. 

“Here! here! take it, dearest father!” she ex- 
claimed, slipping it over her head and laying it 
in his hand; “I no longer care for it. It is 
beautiful, but last night I dreamed a serpent was 
strangling me, and I awoke stifled, and found 
6 


PALMS. 


162 

the chain twisted so tight that my breath was 
almost gone. It has frightened me all day; take 
it, then, for it might happen so again. Send it 
back to her . 5 ’ 

“No, darling, we must not offend the lady,” 
he replied. ‘ ‘ Zilla shall have it in safe-keeping 
until thou art grown up. Then thou wilt decide 
how to dispose of it. ’ ’ 

“I shall never wear it again. Some day I 
will give it to Fabian for a keepsake ; he likes it, 
and says it is a rare jewel,” she answered 
drowsily. 

‘ ‘ Had I my will, ’ ’ thought Zilla, who, sitting 
apart from them, had listened with breathless 
interest to every word that had passed — “had I 
my will, I would drop the accursed thing into 
that fathomless pool up yonder at the old Tem- 
ple, out of which nothing that once enters is 
ever seen again. ’ ’ 

After Zilla had received the jewel, and gone 
away, Claudia fell asleep, her head reclining on 
her father’s breast, his arm supporting her. Her 
breathing was regular and soft, except when, at 
intervals, a low, quivering sigh escaped her lips. 
So deep and tranquil was her slumber, that Ne- 
mesius bore her to her couch, and laid her upon 
her pillow without disturbing her. Then he stood 
for a moment gazing down at her angelic count- 
enance, an infinite tenderness and sorrow in his 
eyes. He waited, but she did not stir; her flesh 
was moist and cool, the fever glow had faded 


PALMS. 


163 

from her cheeks and lips, and she breathed 
quietly; yet he could not divest himself of a 
sense of uneasiness. 

“Retire,” he whispered to Zilla, who had re- 
turned, and stood waiting*; U I will stay here, and 
call thee if needed. ’ ’ 

Left alone, and scarcely daring to draw a long 
breath, lest it should disturb the child, Neme- 
sius disposed himself in a large chair, and 
sat motionless beside her. Suddenly he re- 
membered what the Jew-healer Ben Asa had 
said : ‘ ‘ She must have companionship with those 
of her own age ; she must be made accustomed to 
meet strangers, until there is awakened a human 
interest outside the narrow associations hitherto 
guarding her life. Then, as her mind expands, 
it will find space, food, courage, and in the sym- 
pathetic intercourse of friends, a better concep- 
tion of life, which will prepare her for that inev- 
itable moment when her darkness, of which she 
is now only vaguely conscious, shall be revealed 
to her understanding. This will be a shock to 
her, come when it may; therefore, to enable her 
to bear it, all morbid sensitiveness must be re- 
placed by some healthy conditions.” 

That is what the wise Jew had said to Neme- 
sius, and had repeated to Fabian. 

“I should have thought of this before,” he 
mused. “The Jew is right: I see it. The 
birds, flowers, fountains, with the absurd little 
donkey, will not always satisfy thee; even Zilla, 


164 


PALMS. 


with all her love and care, is too wise and grave 
a companion for thee, my beautiful child. My 
duties — duties as terrible as fate, yet demanded 
by the exigencies of the times, and the glory of 
Rome — grim, sickening duties, that wring daily 
protests from my nature — keep me separated too 
often and too long from thee; but now I have 
found the remedy, and, by the gods! no more 
time shall be lost. ’ ’ 

Until far in the night Nemesius kept vigil be- 
side her, whose dreams he knew, by the smile 
that half parted her lips, must be peaceful ; until 
the silence, the subdued light, the musical voices 
of the night stealing in, and the soft whispering 
of the leaves as the zephyrs dallied with them, 
soothed him to slumbers as deep as hers. 

He was awakened by a kiss, and a low sweet 
laugh, and the soft clinging of arms around his 
neck. He saw the sunlight spread in tremulous 
golden shadows upon the wall, and for an instant 
he felt bewildered ; then he remembered all the 
pain of the evening before, and how Claudia had 
fallen asleep in his arms, his vague dread, and his 
watch beside her, — all of which now seemed like 
a troubled dream, when he saw that her face was 
no longer pale, but rosy from sleep, and dimpled 
with smiles. 

“ Thou sluggard! ” he said fondly, “art thou 
at last rested? ” 

“ So rested that I awoke in time to catch thee 
sleeping. I heard thee breathing; at first it 


PALMS. 


165 

frightened me, then I put out my hand and felt 
thine, and touched thy dear face, and I knew — I 
knew who it was, and could not wait, but kissed 
thee, and laughed at the thought of thy astonish- 
ment. How tired thou must have been to have 
dropped off to sleep here ! ’ ’ she said, in caressing 
tones; “but now that thou art awake, come, let 
us go out into the warm, sweet sunshine, among 
the roses ; for the birds are calling. ’ ’ 

“After my bath, dear one, if thou wilt spare 
me,” he answered, laughing, as he smoothed 
back the aureole of golden hair from her round 
forehead, and kissed it. Then he summoned 
Zilla, and left her. 

Zilla saw at once the strange improvement in 
Claudia’s appearance; her fears were relieved, 
and she laughed when the child told her, with 
little bursts of merriment between, how she had 
found her father asleep, and how she had awak- 
ened him. 

“That was how it happened,” she added; 
‘ ( and I am well now, since he is here. It always 
makes me ill when he stays away so long. Oh, 
the dear Penates are very good to me, and we 
will bring them the most beautiful flowers to- 
day! ” 

She was indeed better; the heavy languor of 
the last few days was gone, her voice had re- 
gained its own sweet ring; but Zilla observed, 
when she bathed her, and arrayed her in fresh, 
spotless garments, that her limbs and hands were 
tremulous, and her breathing slightly hurried. 


1 66 


PALMS. 


Such was the prelude of a most happy day for ! 
Claudia, and of — changes which turned the cur- 
rent of her life. 

Nemesius lost no time in carrying out his plan. 
There were a few families in Rome with whom 
he had renewed friendly relations after his return 
from Gaul, — whose ancestors and his own had 
bequeathed a hereditary friendship to their de- 
scendants, which, in time, had grown to be al- 
most as close as the ties of consanguinity. 
Among these he found four or five girls about 
the age of Claudia — daughters of noble and vir- 
tuous matrons, who had guarded them from con- 
tamination, and trained them in the best pre- 
cepts of pagan morality. That his child should 
become their friend was in accord with family 
traditions, and, with the consent of their parents, 
he invited them to make her a visit. Their eld- 
ers knew of Claudia’s misfortune, tenderly sym- 
pathized with her, and hoped that her contact 
with the bright young lives of their own daugh- 
ters would conduce a little to her happiness. 

On the eve of their visit the young people 
were warned of the little girl’s blindness, and 
enjoined not to notice it, or to question her even 
indirectly about it, but to conduct themselves in 
every particular as if there were no difference 
between her and themselves, as she was not con- 
scious of her affliction. They wondered a little, 
as well they might, but promised to obey, being 
too full of delightful anticipations to allow any 
doubts to disturb them. 


PALMS. 


1 6 7 

Claudia, who had been prepared for their visit, 
was waiting on the portico with her father and 
Zilla, when her young guests arrived, and re- 
ceived them with sweet, timid welcome ; while 
they, as bright as their own sunny skies, were 
satisfied, and thought how beautiful she was, and 
how much they should love her. At first she 
shrunk from them ; their strange voices confused 
her, and her well-bred instincts, together with 
her shyness, forbade her examining their faces 
with the tips of her fingers, by which she would 
have been able to distinguish one from the other; 
but in a day or two all embarrassment wore off, 
and the girls quite won her timid heart by their 
gentle, merry ways, their genuine delight in her 
doves, her magical bird, the cascade ; their do- 
cile behavior to Zilla, and their wild merriment 
over Grillo, as he with absurd gravity bore one 
and another of them up and down the chestnut 
avenue. With them, guided by tender, clasping 
hands, she danced to the music of Zilla’ s lute ; 
together, near the fountains, they gathered 
flowers, and wove garlands for the household 
deities, and made al fresco feasts for themselves 
under the feathery palms and fragrant limes, 
where, with merry chatter and endless laughter, 
they strove to imitate the banquets of their eld- 
ers, the crushed violets on which they reposed 
providing the sweet unguents, and oranges their 
wine. 

Hide-and-seek among the jasmine and rose- 


PALMS. 


1 68 

covered arbors, through the shady alleys, around 
the mossy grottoes, and behind the statues, was 
one of their favorite games, in which Claudia, 
guided by one or another, took part, running like 
a young fawn with the most fleet-hooted of them 
all. There was no pastime entered into in which 
she could not take part. Zilla never lost sight 
of them ; however, she would not restrain them 
by her presence, but hovered around, to be near 
enough to prevent any untoward accident from 
thoughtlessness or a spirit of adventure — for there 
was a dangerous spot to be avoided where the 
red wall overlooked the Tiber, and another above 
the cascade. 

With her fine sense of hearing and touch 
keenly alert, Claudia had learned to distinguish 
her young friends; and, although she had her 
preferences, her sweet instinctive sense of po- 
liteness restrained her from making the slightest 
distinction which might be felt. And so the 
days passed happily in an endless round of in- 
nocent enjoyment ; and Claudia, although not 
fully recovered from her mysterious illness of a 
few weeks before, had now a soft glow on her 
cheeks, and her countenance more frequently 
wore its old bright expression, while to Zilla’ s 
fond eyes she appeared as lovely as one of the 
Graces among her pretty, dark-eyed companions. 

Nemesius came unexpectedly one day; he was 
anxious about the child, and wished to see the 
effect produced upon her by this new phase in 


PALMS. 


169 

her life. As swift as light, the voice she loved 
and waited for reached Claudia — although he 
was speaking in subdued tones to Zilla some lit- 
tle distance away — and her first impulse was to 
rush to his arms; but would it not be rude to 
leave her companions so abruptly? She hesi- 
tated, and did not move ; but, by and by, waiting 
her opportunity, she stole quietly away to seek 
him. She had not far to go, for, not having lost 
sight of her for a moment, he came to meet her. 
Nestling for an instant in his arms, her cheek 
pressed to his, and her hungry heart satisfied 
with his words of endearment and approval, she 
flew back to her friends to propose some new 
plan for their enjoyment. Bravely, and for the 
love of her father, she denied herself the happi- 
ness she most prized on earth, that of being near 
him — a little lesson of renunciation and sacrifice, 
which was but infinitesimal in comparison with 
a sublimer one in which she would take part in 
the near future. 

During all these gay, happy days, the secret 
wish of Claudia’s heart was that they were over, 
so that everything could be as it was before, 
when there was nothing to interrupt the sweet 
intercourse and loving confidence between her 
father and herself; for were not their hearts knit 
together as one ? 

The end came at last; her sweet self-denials 
and patient waiting were over: her guests were 
going home. Without an inhospitable or un- 


170 


PALMS. 


generous thought, she was glad when, after a 
festa , which was so beautiful and gay that it 
was the crowning delight of their entrancing 
visit, the hour for their departure came. Fare- 
wells, and thanks for the pleasure of their visit 
and all the kind attentions they had received, 
were spoken, and they were gone, bearing with 
them pleasant memories, and tender, pitying 
thoughts of the blind girl, who had been so kind 
to them. As the last echo of their glad young 
voices died away, Claudia still lingered on the 
portico, refreshed by the violet-scented wind that 
gently fanned her cheek, and the silence that, 
like a balm, soothed and rested her. 

“Now, now, my father, thou wilt be all mine 
once more!” she murmured. “Having thee, 
there will be nothing left for me to desire. I 
shall hear thy voice, thy hand will hold mine, 
and we will talk and talk, and wander through 
all the beautiful places, and rest under the great 
ilex trees, and by the fountains; and thou wilt 
laugh at the foolish things I tell thee, and there 
will be no strangers to come between us, and all 
will be just as it was before.” 

When Zilla presently came to seek her, it was 
in this happy mood she found her, singing little 
snatches of song without words, that she had 
learned from the nightingales. But were things 
to be as they were before ? 


PALMS. 


171 


CHAPTER X. 

FABIAN’S GOLDEN SANDS — SHE KNOWS AT LAST. 

It had been a sultry day, but twilight now 
tempered the heated atmosphere; and when the 
stars began to glimmer through the purple 
shadows, a soft breath of air from the Tiber 
whispered among the leaves. The flowers lifted 
their drooping heads, and offered incense; grylli 
shrilled their paeans under the violets, among the 
grass; glow-worms, like pale, lustrous emeralds, 
gleamed out of the darkness in fantastic constel- 
lations; and the nightingales, among the roses 
and orange blossoms, or perched high on the 
' feathery palms, poured out upon the night the 
songs which filled their hearts. 

And now a tremulous radiance wavered through 
the shadowy spaces, growing brighter and bright- 
er, until the stars paled in its increasing efful- 
gence, and the full moon rose above the Aventine 
in such a glory of silvery whiteness, that the 
fountains, transfigured by its splendor, looked 
like showers of diamonds, and the marble statues 
appeared indeed like deities clothed in vesture 
of celestial light. 

4 4 Come, my dear one, we will go out into the 
beautiful night. Throw a light cloak about her, 


172 


PALMS. 


Zilla; we will go and find a place under the old 
trees to rest, and talk, and grow cool,” said 
Nemesius, who had seized the opportunity of an 
interregnum in his duties to spend an hour or 
two with his child. An oppressive heat still per- 
vaded the interior of the villa, and he longed for 
the open air, — for air that had no taint of blood, 
and which the echoes of barbarous shouts and 
dying groans from the arena could not reach. 

“Oh, how sweet! — I smell roses, orange 
flowers, carnations, lilacs ; now one, now another, 
now all together! And listen, my father, to the 
nightingales ! And to have thee, with all this! 
Oh, I am too happy!” said the child, kissing the 
hand to which clung, and pressing her cheek 
upon it. 

“It is indeed refreshing to be here, and to 
have thee so near, my dearest one; it rests me. 
Here I breathe and — forget. It has been very 
hot in Rome to-day, and, what with the crowds, 
and ill odors, and things more unendurable still, 
I was rejoiced to find I could escape it all, to 
spend a little while with thee. Here is our rest- 
ing-place, where the ilex and palm trees make a 
roof above us, so close that the moonbeams can 
scarcely steal through. Sit thou here, my sweet. 
Gods, how delicious!” he sighed, as he stretched 
himself on the moss-covered bank at her feet, his 
head upon her lap. 

Claudia passed her soft hands tenderly over his 
still throbbing temples, and, with soothing words 


PALMS. 


J 73 


of endearment, promised, with all the strong 
faith of a child, to make him well, and that he 
should never, never be so tired and hot again. 
He listened, her voice falling like dews of re- 
freshment upon his heart, until his mind regained 
its usual calm, and he could enter into her little 
world of fancies, and discuss them with her as 
usual. He also had something to say to her, 
which he had good reason to fear would distress 
her, the very thought of it having added no little 
to the extreme discomfort of the day. But it 
was for her good, which must not be sacrificed 
to avoid giving her momentary pain. 

After the little ripple recently made in her 
daily life, Claudia had imagined that, as soon as 
her young guests had taken their departure, 
everything would be just as it was before. For 
a brief time — except for her strange illness — his 
expectation seemed to be realized; but now she 
was to hear that which would foreshadow changes 
she had never dreamed of, and which would fill 
her mind with distress, and a vague sense of 
alarm. 

“Wouldst thou like to know how some of my 
time is spent down there in the great city, my 
child?” he asked, after she had told him all the 
little events of the day. 

“Oh, so much! I have told thee everything 
that I have been doing, and all that has hap- 
pened since thy last visit. It is but fair thou 
shouldst tell me, in turn, some of the things that 


i74 


PALMS. 


keep thee away so much from me. Now, my 
father, I wait, ’ ’ she answered, with a merry little 
laugh. 

‘ ‘ I have had the old palace opened — the home 
where thy mother was born, and spent her early 
youth, until she left it with me, my wife — ’ ’ 

Nemesius paused an instant, wrung by a bitter 
pang at the thought of all that his words recalled. 

4 ‘ Zilla has often told me of it, ’ ’ was the quiet 
answer; “such a stately, beautiful palace it was, 
she said. I am glad, my father, that it is open 
to the warm sunshine and air. Some day thou 
wilt take me there.” 

“It is to be repaired and made beautiful for 
thee, my pretty one. ’ ’ 

“ For me ! ” she exclaimed, breathless. 

“For thee, yes. Listen, my child. We are 
going to live in Rome a month or so. There 
thou wilt meet again thy young friends, and 
know many of thy mother’s and mine, who will 
love thee for her sweet sake; then we will go 
away to the sea, perhaps as far as Capreae, until 
October — ’ ’ 

1 ‘ And then ? ’ ’ she asked, low- voiced like a 
sob. 

“Then, daughter mine, a month here, after 
which we shall live in the old palace in Rome 
until Spring — ” 

“I can not! I can not/” she sobbed, throwing 
herself upon his breast; “the thought of it sti- 
fles me ! ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


!75 


“Will not I be with thee?” he said, tenderly. 

“Thou! Oh, that would be enough; but 
strangers frighten me. Oh, I never, never wish 
to go away from my sweet, quiet life here! ” 

‘ ‘ But, my sweet one, such a quiet life is not 
good for thee ; it will be best for thee to know 
people, and get used to them, now that thou art 
growing out of thy childhood. Believe me, thou 
wilt learn to understand and enjoy life in this 
way more than thou dreamest; and is it nothing 
to know that I will be often with thee — more 
often than now?” he asked, his hand laid lightly 
on her head. 

“It is all — all /” she said, after a silence of 
several minutes ; “I care nothing for the rest. 
If it is thy wish, let it be so ; thou shalt find, my 
father, that thou hast not a little coward for thy 
daughter. I am a silly child, but I believe thy 
words, although I do not understand all that 
they mean; and, knowing that I love thee, and 
that thou lovest me, it is enough. But thou 
hast said nothing of Zilla,” she added, in quick, 
questioning tones. 

“ Zilla shall never be separated from thee; and 
thou shalt have flowers and fruits from thy own 
gardens up here, and nothing shall be spared for 
thy happiness,” he said, pressing her head to 
his breast, and kissing her golden hair, proud of 
her brave spirit even while deeply touched by 
her pain. Then he began to talk of other things, 
and told her pretty myths of mortals who had 


PALMS. 


176 

been transformed by the gods into flowers and 
plants, — the very ones in whose fragrance she 
most delighted, — until, full of beautiful fancies, 
her sorrow was for the moment forgotten, and 
she was her blithe self again. 

When Nemesius, after a farewell embrace, left 
her, to return to Rome, Claudia stood on the 
portico, listening to the echo of his horse’s feet, 
until the sound was lost in the distance; then, 
placing her hand in Zilla’s, she told her that 
she was sleepy and tired, and wished to retire to 
her couch. She was very quiet while preparing 
for the night’s rest, — a few gentle words and a 
kiss were all; then, laying her head upon her 
pillow, she closed her eyes. 

Zilla stole quietly from the room, but returned 
later to close a window, through which a strong 
breeze entered; and as she paused an instant, to 
see if her movements had disturbed the child’s 
slumbers, she heard her weeping softly; she flew 
to her, and with words of endearment sought to 
ascertain the cause of her tears, that she might 
better know how to comfort her. Gathered in 
Zilla’s arms, her head reposing on her kind 
breast, Claudia at last confided her grief to her. 
The woman saw at once how vain all efforts 
would be, at that moment, to reconcile the child 
to the dreaded change; for had not every fibre 
of her heart taken root in this her home, strik- 
ing deeper and growing stronger year by year ? 
and was it not natural that the sudden strain 


PALMS. 


177 


should hurt and wound? Time only, and the 
influence of parental love, cculd reconcile Clau- 
dia to the ordeal that awaited her. 

Zilla wisely refrained from ill-advised words 
of sympathy, but soothed with endearing tones 
and tender caresses, knowing that in some cases 
these avail where words of consolation are use- 
less ; patiently and tenderly she waited, until the 
stress of the child’s grief ebbed away in sighs, — 
until tears ceased flowing from the blind eyes, — 
until the beating heart lapsed into gentle pulsa- 
tions, and a soft slumber stole over her wearied 
senses. Fearing to awaken her, the kind nurse 
still held her in her arms, the golden head upon 
her bosom, and the warm, fragrant breath fan- 
ning her own white cheek, now drenched with 
tears which her darling’s grief had wrung from 
her heart. 

“Oh, gentle heart!” she thought, “why must 
they take thee from this little world of thine, 
which so fills thy life with innocent enjoyments? 
Thou art not as other children; what suits them 
may not be best for thee. What is it that whis- 
pers, without words, a warning of unspeakable 
sorrow, while my flesh shivers as if the shadow 
of an awful presence were passing over me? 
Keep guard, oh, ye gods! who defend the weak, 
over this helpless one; suffer no adverse power 
to darken her life, as it has darkened her eyes, 
and I will not be sparing of sacrifice upon thy 
altars. ’ ’ 

6 * 


i 7 8 


PALMS. 


Then Zilla, after the mysterious shadow had 
passed from her spirit, chid herself: she had been 
unnerved. The night air, sweeping up from the 
Tiber, was chilly, and had made a low, mourn- 
ful whispering among the leaves of the old trees. 
She must not, for the dear child’s sake, give way 
to dismal fancies and presentiments. No! she 
would gird up her courage, and spare no efforts 
to make the trial more easy and pleasant to her. 
This was the resolve that crowned her self-com- 
munings. 

Claudia had also made a vow, in the midst of 
her stormy grief, to the end that she would, with- 
out a murmur of discontent, and as cheerfully as 
she might, acquiesce in her father’s wishes, 
knowing that whatever he proposed was for her 
best good — nothing could ever shake her belief 
in that. And, having so determined, the strug- 
gle ended as described, when she fell asleep in 
Zilla’ s arms, resting there until a faint, rosy glow 
illumined the room ; then the fond watcher laid 
her upon her pillow, waiting a moment to see if 
the movement had disturbed her; but her slum- 
ber was uninterrupted, and she retired to her 
own couch, not to sleep — her mind was too anx- 
ious for that — but to wonder in what manner the 
coming change would affect Claudia; and she 
dreaded the moment, which now seemed to be 
inevitably approaching, when she would dis- 
cover that her eyes, unlike the eyes of others, 
were darkened and sightless. 


PALMS. 


I 79 


The contemplated change in the life of the lit- 
tle recluse on the Aventine met the high ap- 
proval of Fabian, by whose advice it had been 
urged. Had not the Jew-healer, Ben Asa, given 
him the soundest reasons why, for her own good, 
it should not be delayed ? And had not he him- 
self sworn by the mother of the gods to devote 
himself to the purpose of making up to her, in 
every conceivable way, the loss inflicted on her 
by Fate? He knew also that some one of judg- 
ment and taste must supervise the renovations 
which were to be made in the old palace up 
there in the neighborhood of the Forum Tra- 
jano, it had so long been given over to darkness, 
mildew, and dust; and, as his kinsman could 
not spare time from his military duties to apply 
himself to that object, he blandly offered to take 
the matter into his own hands. Nemesius was 
grateful, but hesitated to take advantage of his 
generous offer, until Fabian with friendly insis- 
tence gained his point. 

Fabian Csecilius was a rare compound of qual- 
ities both admirable and eccentric. He set pre- 
cious value on Time’s golden sands, life, he de- 
clared, being too short to waste a single grain, 
an opinion which his constitutional activity of 
mind and body had warmed and fostered until it 
ripened into the governing principle of his exist- 
ence. He classified his pleasures as duties, and 
enjoyed them all the same, and was ready either 
to plunge into deep questions of philosophy or 


i8o 


PALMS. 


expend his ingenuity in unravelling an intrigue. 
Above all things, he detested interregnums as 
much as nature abhors a vacuum, and any oppor- 
tunity, great or small, by which he could avoid 
them, was welcome. He gleaned all that was 
brightest and best in his intercourse with the 
world, leaving the impression on some that he 
was wise, on others that he was foolish — and he 
laughed at both. He was not by any means a 
pessimist, although, with rare exceptions, he de- 
spised human nature, because he thought he had 
fathomed all its weakness and all its meanness; 
and it amused him to experiment with it by as- 
suming, like a chameleon, the color of every leaf 
he fed upon, knowing what would follow when 
his victims compared notes. 

Fabian was eminently good-natured, loved 
luxury in its place, and was always as generous 
with his gold as with his advice; by which it 
must not be understood that he was officious with 
the latter, for, with all his peculiarities, he was 
in every sense a Roman gentleman. His move- 
ments were so erratic that his acquaintances were 
never sure of finding him ; one day he would be 
seen north of the Tiber, perhaps in the neighbor- 
hood of Tarquinii, at the unearthing of an an- 
cient Etruscan tomb, in search of intaglios of 
pietra-dura , or a fine fragment of alti relievi; 
later he was visiting his farms and vineyards on 
the Alban slopes, inspecting his imported bul- 
locks, introducing improved wine-presses, and 


PALMS. 


181 


giving personal inspection to his olive and orange 
groves; from that to Salerno, to examine some 
rare conception of Hellenic genius wrought in 
deathless marble, which, lately discovered under 
a Grecian temple, had just been landed. 

He believed that true friendship was rare, its 
attainment being so environed by difficulties that 
few persons had courage or constancy sufficient 
to overcome them; and considered that a man 
who could count two friends in a lifetime was 
singularly favored by the gods, — a fact verified 
by the ages. Yet he repulsed none; it was the 
easiest way, and also gave him wider scope for 
the study of mankind. He was generally liked 
for his good-natured, pleasant ways, and, as his 
satirical wit often left a deserved sting, none 
cared to offend him. His courage no man ques- 
tioned; he was distinguished for his handsome 
person, his graceful manners, and was so enor- 
mously rich that Valerian Imperator, with a cov- 
etous eye to his possesssions, secretly hoped that 
he would some day become a Christian. But 
under the sparkling shallows of this man’s life 
were depths which he held too sacred for the 
common gaze — where, like pearls of great price, 
lay many a tender, noble resolve, and a capacity 
for friendship whose rare quality was to be cruci- 
ally tested in the near future. 

Fabian entered with zest on his voluntary and 
congenial task, and his aesthetic soul was more 
than repaid by the rare and ancient treasures of 


182 


PALMS. 


art which he discovered in the old palace of Ser- 
ventus Caesius. The rooms were spacious, and 
separated by pillars, some of which were of rose- 
tinted marble, others of malachite, others again 
of porphyry, and some also of the purest Car- 
rara. The vaulted ceilings, frescoed by Grecian 
artists in graceful delineations of mythological 
fable, looked down in colors as vivid as if the 
fingers which wrought them — gone to dust long 
ago — had just completed their task. Cornices 
of alti relievi , full of graceful, poetic fancies, 
with festoons of flowers carved in alabaster ap- 
parently depending from them, enriched the 
walls; the great casements were set in deep, wide 
embrasures, and shaded by heavy draperies of 
Oriental silk, stiff with gold embroidery; there 
were tables of carved citrean wood, of lapis-lazuli, 
of amber ; there were couches and chairs of ivory 
and of finely- wrought brass. 

Groups of statuary gleamed here and there 
through the shadows, full of deathless beauty. 

‘ ‘ Leda and the Swan ’ ’ stood between two rose- 
tinted pillars; in another of the silent rooms, 
near a window, and apart from all else, was 
“The Parting of Achilles and Briseis;” farther 
on, standing pale and beautiful, was “Eurydice 
and the Serpent;” while the white carven forms 
of “Prometheus and the Nymphs” shone dimly 
in the distance. There were ornaments of gold 
carved with cunning skill, vases older than Tar- 
quin, and wonderful crystal urns from an Egyp- 


PALMS. 183 

tian temple — all and everything covered with 
the fine dust of years. 

Fabian found a corresponding magnificence 
throughout the old palace, only modified to an 
appropriate fitness in various parts. Much of 
the splendor was tarnished; some of the rooms 
leaked, and were mildewed; draperies hung tat- 
tered from their supports, and an insufferable 
damp, mouldy smell pervaded the air. There 
was much to be done, much to be re-arranged, 
and it may be imagined that he allowed no waste 
of time to delay the work of renovation. 

Nemesius sometimes dropped in, and together 
they made choice of Claudia’s rooms, which 
fronted south, overlooked the fountain in the 
court, admitted plenty of sunshine; they were 
soon transformed into a very bower of loveliness. 
Conspicuously placed were three marble statues, 
of Joy, Prosperity, and Happiness — the father’s 
gift — which he fondly hoped would preside over 
her existence. Fabian remembered that she 
could not see all this harmony of color, this 
beauty of design, or the golden sunbeams that 
danced over the mosaic floor; the thought was 
never absent from his mind, or the impression 
that she, like some precious jewel, should have 
the most exquisite setting that the skill of man 
could devise; and upon this idea he expended 
the riches of his poetic fancy and his conception 
of the ideal, until, when all was finished, even 
his fastidious taste was satisfied. 


1 84 


PALMS. 


With all its ancient splendors renewed, the 
palace was now ready for occupation — not the 
least thing seemed to have been forgotten — 
when suddenly it occurred to Fabian that it 
would be proper a matron should preside over 
the establishment during Claudia’s residence. 
Zilla was well enough at the villa on the Aven- 
tine; but here it would be a different thing, and 
the proprieties must be observed. Prolific in 
resources as he generally was, on the present 
' occasion however he was slightly bewildered as 
to how the difficulty should b$ met, and rushed 
off to find Nemesius, and explain the dilemma. 

“I have already thought of that, my Fabian. 
Hast thou forgotten our relative, the Princess 
Vivia Csetani, who has secluded herself from the 
world ever since she became a widow?” he 
asked, with his grave smile. 

“Yes, yes; but I have heard such extravagant 
stories of her grief, I thought she had followed 
Csetani to the shades long ago. What of her?” 

‘ ‘ I have written a letter, inviting her, for the 
sake of my child, and as a favor to me, to visit 
us; but I am in doubt of her acceptance.” 

“Hast thou dispatched the letter, Nemesius?” 
asked Fabian, quickly. 

“Not yet; I will send a messenger with it to- 
morrow at day-dawn. ’ ’ 

“Give it to me: I will go myself; but where 
shall I find her?” 

“Can it be possible thou hast forgotten the 


PALMS. 


*85 

old gray villa on the Alban slopes, and, tower- 
ing high above it the pinnacle of rock on which 
Jnno stood to watch the fate of contending 
armies? Hast thou forgotten dark Soracte 
looming in the distance, and the far-off white 
line where the sea beats along the Latian shore? 
We saw all that and more when we were boys 
up there for a holiday, and used to spend the 
time climbing heights and exploring depths 
which only goats could reach,” said Nemesius, 
his eyes brightening with the long-ago pleasant 
memories. 

“ Yes, yes : I recollect perfectly, since thou hast 
recalled it. She was a kind soul, though sharp 
about her grapes and melons,” said Fabian, laugh- 
ing. ‘ ‘ But what a folly to bury one’ s self alive ! If 
I am ever mad enough to do so, may Apollo speed 
one of his swiftest arrows through my heart! I 
will take the letter, and if I have not forgotten 
the art of beguiling a woman’s senses away by 
soft speeches and agreeable flatteries, we shall 
have our Princess here without unnecessary de- 
lay. ’ ’ 

“May the gods speed thy mission, my Fabian, 
for it is one of love! Here is the letter. How 
soon wilt thou leave?” 

“Within the hour. Farewell!” replied Fa- 
bian, gayly, charmed by the sparkle of a new 
bubble in his experience. 

Nothing could have been more suitable than 
the arrangement decided on, if the Princess Vivia 


PALMS. 


1 86 

could be prevailed upon to accept the invitation 
so cordially offered; for this noble lady, now past 
middle-age, was a widow of great wealth, who 
ever since the loss of her husband had lived in 
the deepest seclusion up there in her old gray 
villa on a slope of the Alban hills, with huge, 
towering rocks and forests above it; with orange 
and olive groves, vineyards and cornfields* around 
it; and a vista across the Campagna to the sea, 
in front. Occupied with the cares of her little 
world, and keeping in order her peasants, who 
adored even while they feared her, the monoto- 
nous years had dragged on, shadowed by her 
grief, until there were times when nature rebelled 
against it, and she found herself involuntarily 
wishing for a change. 

When, having welcomed Fabian and made him 
partake of the refreshments she had at once 
ordered to be set before him, the Princess learned 
the object of his visit both from himself and from 
the letter of Nemesius, she gently recalled to his 
mind the sad bereavement she had suffered, and 
her long seclusion; saying that she had grown 
old in her solitude, and forgotten the ways of the 
world, and that — as was to be expected — every 
one had forgotten her. It may be imagined with 
what suave denials Fabian met her objections, 
and all the compliments, pleasant assurances, and 
earnest arguments he made use of to convince 


*In Europe wheat and other cereals are spoken of as corn. 


PALMS. 


I8 7 


her of her mistake ; and how at last, with ready 
tact, he invented so many charming things to 
prove she was under a delusion, that she showed 
signs of giving up, and asked a night to consider. 

Her hesitation was, however, partly assumed, 
as he suspected; for just about the time of his 
visit she was weary almost to death of the monot- 
ony of her existence, and had been secretly pin- 
ing to revisit Rome and take a peep — only a peep 
— at what was going on in the gay patrician cir- 
cles of which she was once a conspicuous orna- 
ment. But she had been posing so long as a dis- 
consolate widow, and had closed her door so re- 
solutely against the world, that she could not 
exactly see how she would be able to dismount 
gracefully from her pedestal, until this invitation, 
which certainly involved a family duty, offered 
the wished-for opportunity.' 

“It would not do,” she reasoned, “for the 
daughter of Nemesins, considering her blindness, 
to live in that great, rambling palace with only 
the servants; I should be blamed to permit it; 
therefore” — with a sigh — “I will sacrifice my- 
self to the family dignity. Yes, I will leave the 
solitude which has been made sacred by my sighs 
and tears and sorrowful memories, and where my 
bereaved heart has found a sad repose, to go and 
act a mother’s part towards the unfortunate child 
of my kinsman. ’ ’ 

With the help of this salve to her self-love, and 
Fabian’s silvery tongue, the disconsolate Princess 


1 88 


PALMS. 


dismounted her pedestal without in the least com- 
promising her dignity, taking credit to herself 
for a noble disinterestedness, while all the time 
she was subserving her own object. She talked 
it over with Fabian in the morning, and gave him 
a letter to Nemesius, the substance of which was 
that, after mature consideration, she accepted his 
invitation. She required a week for her prepar- 
ations; there were so many business affairs to be 
looked after, and things to be planned to prevent 
idleness and confusion during her absence, she 
informed Fabian that she could not possibly fix 
on an earlier date; then they parted, and he went 
away, believing in her almost as much as she 
believed in herself. 

“She is coming, Nemesius; here is her letter,” 
said Fabian, as soon as they met at the old pal- 
ace, where the former chanced to be when the 
latter called to inquire where it was likely he 
should find him. He threw himself on a couch 
with his usual easy grace, and when Nemesius 
finished reading the missive, he said, 

“Vivia is a discreet woman, and it is highly 
satisfactory to know that she is coming; but, if 
I am not mistaken, she will quite enjoy a nearer 
view of the pomps and splendors of life in Rome. 
However, one will be wise to take no notice; for 
she will prefer it to be believed that she has not 
lost sight of her sorrow, but is making a sacrifice 
of herself. That is the way I read it. ’ ’ 

“I leave her to thee, my Fabian; I am only a 


PALMS. 


189 


rough soldier, who does not understand all the 
delicate intricacies of the feminine character,” 
said Nemesius, with a grave smile. “If she is 
good to my little daughter, I shall ask no more; 
meantime she must receive all honor as the 
head of my house and our kinswoman. ’ ’ 

“Yes, yes, by all means! I am willing to get 
up a private apotheosis of her defunct prince, if 
it will contribute to her happiness, and shall place 
myself submissively at her disposal. Pour me a 
cup of that old ccecuban wine, then I must be off 
to the Baths of Sallust, where I have an engage- 
ment. ’ ’ He lifted the gold drinking-cup, poured 
a few of the sparkling drops in libation to the 
gods, and drank the wine. ‘ 1 Shall I find thee 
on duty at the imperial palace to-night?” 

“No,” was the quiet answer; then farewells 
were exchanged, and they parted. 

That evening, Fabian, faultlessly attired, his 
manner full of that irresistible charm which is 
too subtle to be exactly defined, appeared in the 
imperial circle. After making the customary 
obeisance to Valerian, who tossed him a few 
coarse words, which made men laugh and women 
blush — words to which Fabian returned so witty 
a rejoinder that he not only parried their coarse- 
ness, but made the tyrant roar with laughter — 
he slipped through the crowd of courtiers, and 
noble, richly-attired women, who were pressing 
around, and went in search of Faodice. 

After passing through two of the immense 


PALMS. 


190 

rooms, both thronged with the gayest and best 
of the patrician society, he caught sight of her 
as he entered the third, and in time reached her, 
as cool and unruffled by the impedimenta which 
had opposed his progress as if he had just stepped 
from his dressing-room. 

Faodice was, as usual, arrayed with splendor — 
in rich foreign silks broidered with gold, and 
Syrian gauzes spangled with pearls — darkly, su- 
perbly beautiful ; such a vision as Cleopatra must 
have presented to Caesar, when, coming to con- 
quer, he was vanquished by the wonderful 
charms of the “sorceress of the Nile.” She 
was surrounded by flatterers and adorers, but her 
eyes lighted up with additional brilliancy when 
she saw Fabian, for she felt sure that now she 
should hear something of deep interest; nor was 
she deceived. 

“A glad greeting to the long-absent!” she 
said, laughing; “when didst thou return to 
Rome?” 

“One can be in Rome and yet a thousand 
miles away. My being here is assurance that I 
have just returned,” he said, with inimitable 
grace, as he bowed his perfumed head over her 
hand. She accepted the incense of his subtle 
flattery with such satisfaction that she forgot to 
press the enigma it implied. A fusillade of talk 
followed, replete with wit and satire on his part, 
and of sparkling repartee on hers ; then she led 
him into a cabinet to show him some ancient 


PALMS. 


I 9 I 

intaglios in pietra-dura , and other rare relics of 
a past age, recently found by a peasant, who in 
digging a well on his little farm on the Cam- 
pagna, suddenly discovered that he had broken 
through the roof of what had once been a por- 
tion of a house. That was the story, common 
enough to be credible; and Fabian, always en- 
thusiastic about any probable clue to the sites of 
the old dead-and-buried cities of Fatium, lis- 
tened eagerly, and examined with intense inter- 
est the curios which Faodice took out of a case 
for his inspection. Their date and workmanship 
proved their high antiquity. 

U I suppose they are excavating,” he said, re- 
placing the gems; “if so I shall visit the site to- 
morrow; for these can not be all, and I would 
not lose the opportunity to secure a few if they 
are to be bought ; if not, there are other ways, ’ ’ 
he said, laughing. 

“They have not begun yet, but the place is 
guarded. The Emperor has no time to give to 
such matters; those detestable Christians allow 
him no repose day or night, ’ ’ said Faodice. ‘ ‘ I 
wonder the gods don’t make short work of them; 
then one would not be obliged to hear so many 
disagreeable things.” 

“It is a wonder,” said Fabian, dryly; “but I 
am reminded, by those rare things thou hast 
kindly permitted me to examine, of having seen 
thy Etruscan chain, with its superb ruby, on the 
neck of my little blind cousin up yonder on the 


192 


PALMS. 


Aventine. Why not have bestowed it where its 
splendor would be appreciated — on me, for in- 
stance ? ’ ’ 

His words were careless, but his eyes were 
looking into hers with an intense directness, 
which, for an instant, made her heart quail ; but 
for an instant only. 

“Because it is so precious I gave it to her, 
thinking it well suited to one whom the gods 
have exalted by her wondrous loveliness, and her 
singular misfortune. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Thy gift was, then, through her, an offering 
to the gods? A most pious sentiment, which I 
can not sufficiently admire,” he replied, with a 
smile, which to one unacquainted with him 
might mean either approval or mockery. Laodice 
understood its true significance, but made no sign. 

“I hope the beautiful child is well?” she said, 
in soft, quiet tones. 

‘ ‘ Perfectly so ; she looks like a young Hebe. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ I hope she wears my keepsake ? ’ ’ 

4 4 I did not notice, but I have a vague recollec- 
tion of her telling me that it had been put away 
for her until she should be grown up. I believe 
her father thought the ornament too valuable for 
a child to wear,” he replied, in tones of easy in- 
difference, as he looked away, and bowed to 
a friend who formed one of a group near the en- 
trance ; then he stepped aside, to exchange greet- 
ings with another who was passing. 

Laodice ground her small, white teeth together. 


PALMS. 


*93 


and the angry blood pulsed with great throbs 
through the arteries of her throat into her head, 
until her eyes felt as if they would burst from 
their sockets; she held up her fan of peacock 
feathers to shade them a moment from the glare 
of the lamps, and to recover herself. 

“ To be so baffled, after all! Curses light upon 
her! but I will not be defeated!” she muttered. 

“Pardon me!” said Fabian, as he returned; 
“I had a word to say to a friend, and should 
have lost my opportunity had I not seized it be- 
fore he passed. Didst thou observe him? He 
has the grace and beauty of a woman blended 
with a most perfect manliness ; he is going to be 
a second Cicero. I was at the Forum yesterday, 
when he had all Rome to listen to his oratory. 
It. is refreshing to know that Roman eloquence 
is not to be a thing of the past. Shall we look 
for our friends, who are doubtless ready to as- 
sassinate me for thy absence?” 

He offered his hand to conduct her back to 
the superb apartments they had left, which were 
more crowded than ever. Fabian was assailed 
on every side by smiles, salutations, and sparkles 
of epigrammatic wit, which he returned with in- 
terest; but now their way was blocked, and an 
elderly matron, whose wrinkled neck and arms 
were loaded with jewels — whose high, Roman 
features had grown sharp, and her head tremu- 
lous with incipient palsy — laid her hand upon 
his arm, claiming his instant attention. 

7 


I 94 


PAI.MS. 


‘ ‘ Thou art the very person I have been search- 
ing for all through this crowd! I am out of 
breath,” she said, laughing; “but, having 
caught thee, I will not let thee stir until I hear 
what is going on up there at the old palace of 
Serventus Csesius. Is it true that it soon will be 
occupied?” 

“It is a fact,” he answered, smiles lurking in 
the corners of his eyes. 

“Who will occupy it? — tell me, Fabian; I 
want none of thy jests.” 

“The commander of the Imperial Legion — 
Nemesius, and his daughter, I am informed.” 

“But is it true? Who is thy informant?” 

“Nemesius himself,” was the brief answer, 
yet pleasantly said. 

“Well, the gods be praised! The man is .re- 
covering his senses at last; and, as a final proof 
of his sanity, will marry, I suppose, some noble 
Roman beauty, who will be a mother to that 
pretty blind girl of his. Say, am I not near the 
truth?” 

How keenly Laodice was listening! 

“Thou mayest be; but if so, I am all in the 
dark as to the intentions of Nemesius. It would 
be a sensible step for one situated as he is. 
Meanwhile his cousin, the Princess Vivia Cse- 
tani, has consented to preside and matronize his 
daughter while she remains in Rome. ’ ’ 

“The Princess Vivia!” she screamed; “I 
thought her grief had made her as gloomy and 


PALMS. 


195 


as immovable as Soracte itself. It was reported 
that, like the widow of Mausoleus, she had 
mixed her husband’s ashes with water, and 
swallowed them. What an opportunity this 
visit will give her to shake off the grief which 
failed to kill her! She used to be a great beauty. 
Let me know the moment she comes, for I mean 
to renew my acquaintance with her.” 

He promised faithfully to do so, adding, ur- 
banely: “She will be most delighted, I am sure.” 

Laodice had listened with strained ears to the 
conversation, not missing a word, although one 
of her lovers was whispering soft speeches to her 
all the time, and her spirits revived. 

‘ 1 Death only can baffle me now, ’ ’ she thought, 
while her eyes sparkled, smiles wreathed her full 
red lips, and she looked so darkly beautiful that 
the old Princess, her hand still upon Fabian’s 
arm, said aside, gazing full at her: 

“She’ll ruin her beauty with those Eastern 
cosmetics; she’s not in her first youth, and if it 
goes now, it is gone forever. I hate to go away 
from so delightful a conversationalist” — she had 
done all the talking herself — “I feared it was a 
lost art until I met thee, my Fabian; but my 
daughter is making signs over there for me to 
join her, and the crowding is really less. Fare- 
well ! ’ } 

She was tall and spare, and sidled through the 
press of people like a wedge; and Fabian, al- 
ways amused at .the follies of others, laughed 


196 PALMS. 

softly, and shortly afterwards retired from the 
scene. 

A month later the Princess Vi via came, and 
the world, the other old Princess with it, called 
upon her, glad to renew its acquaintance with 
her; curious to see the daughter of Nemesius, of 
whose rare loveliness there had been much talk, 
and to inspect the magnificent interior of the old 
palace, the furniture of which, together with 
some of its finest works of art, had once be- 
longed to the Caesar from whom his wife had her 
descent. 

The Princess Vi via, in dark robes that showed 
a flash of gold here and there, and were lit up 
with the precious antique jewels she wore in her 
hair and on her neck and arms, received all with 
courtesy tempered by sadness; for she would not 
have them think she had put aside her painful 
memories. Her long seclusion made her shrink, 
just at first, with almost timidity, from this sud- 
den revival of the scenes of her vanished days, 
until she discovered that all who came were not 
absolute strangers, but persons whose faces were 
unforgotten, and who now claimed a renewal of 
old friendships. There were also others she had 
never seen before, who, with deferential manner 
and honeyed social phrases, courted her acquaint- 
ance, and impressed her favorably. She was 
surrounded by splendors which, by comparison, 
made her old villa on the Alban slopes seem like 
a barn; and gradually her nervousness disap- 


PALMS. 


l 9 ? 


peared, and she was conscious that her sense of 
enjoyment was by no means dead, only she must 
be discreet, and not let this be too apparent. 

Claudia’s heart did not warm towards the 
Princess Vi via, neither did its fine instincts repel 
her. The womanly nature of the Princess had 
been touched with genuine emotion by the 
pathos of the child’s misfortune and her extreme 
loveliness, and she spared no kindness to win 
her affection; but, however well-meant her in- 
tentions, she failed, because she had none of 
that magnetism which attracts children, just as 
the fragrance of certain flowers attracts bees. 

The blind child had Zilla with her; her father 
was often beside her, and this filled the measure 
of her happiness. She was gracious and sweet 
to every one. Her young friends, who had spent 
a happy week with her at the villa on the Aven- 
tine, came trooping around her to talk it all 
Over, and ask a hundred questions about Grillo 
and the birds; and she, brave to endure, was ap- 
parently happy, even when every nerve was 
quivering under the oppressive personal contact 
with strangers, and the confused sounds of un- 
familiar voices. 

After every one in the patrician circles of Rome 
had called, invitations were issued by Nemesius 
to a grand supper * in honor of the Princess, at 
which the Emperor signified his intention to be 

* The principal meal of the Romans, corresponding with 
the late dinner of our times. 


PALMS. 


198 

present, as a signal mark of honor to the com- 
mander of the Imperial Region. It was an age 
of unexampled luxury and splendor, and the 
magnificence of the feast, the superb toilets and 
costly jewels of the guests, the softly-breathed 
strains of entrancing music, the numberless per- 
fumed lamps which shed radiance over the scene, 
the air laden with the delicate fragrance of 
flowers, which were twined around the pillars, 
garlanded along the walls, and grouped among 
the gold and crystal vessels and ornaments of 
the tables, may be more easily imagined than 
depicted. 

The central attraction of all, occupying the 
place which was his by right of his supreme 
rank, clothed in the purple and crowned with 
roses, was Valerian Impemtor, who deported 
himself as a demigod, whose power no mortal 
might question. Sating his appetite on the 
richest viands, quaffing the rarest wines, and re- 
ceiving on every side the incense of adulation, 
did no prevision, dimly foreshadowing the future, 
thrill his inner consciousness? Where was his 
daemon, * that not the faintest whisper reached 
him of Sapor, the Persian? But what warning 
could make itself heard to the dull ears of one 
“drunk with the blood of the saints” ? 

The feast was over, and when, at the Emper- 
or’s request, Nemesius led his blind daughter, 


*The Romans believed in attendant spirits called dcsmons . 


PALMS. 


I99 


as fair and beautiful as a white lily in her spot- 
less innocence, to Valerian’s presence, he fixed 
his bold eyes upon her, intending to greet her 
with jest and flattery; but a sudden tremor, that 
thrilled his veins and paled his purple visage, 
checked his utterance. Those who observed 
this thought he was sick from over-eating; how- 
ever, he quickly recovered, and, without even 
profaning the child’s dimpled hand by a touch, 
or giving her the honor of an imperial kiss, he 
said a few confused words (meant to be pleasant) 
in deep, rumbling tones, which frightened her, 
then nodded to Nemesius to take her away, 
swearing by the gods that a mistake had been 
made in her creation. 

Was it a sense of her pure innocence that dis- 
turbed Valerian? The near future will tell. 

Laodice was among the Princess Vi via’ s first 
callers, and, with that worldly tact in which she 
was a perfect adept, and her graceful, deferential 
manners, she not only insinuated herself into her 
favor, but impressed her as being the most beau- 
tiful and charming woman she had yet seen in 
Rome. “How suitable a choice she would be 
for Nemesius or Fabian! ” was a thought that al- 
ways recurred to the Princess when under the 
spell of one of Laodice’ s charming visits. Like 
most women, Princess Vivia was by nature a 
match-maker, and she often wondered if she 
should be able to bring about an object upon 
which she was really beginning to set her heart. 


200 


PALMS. 


Under the guise of careless gayety, delighting 
every one with his wit and his fascinating ways, 
Fabian kept a falcon’s eye on the movements of 
Laodice. Claudia was permitted to see her only 
in the presence of the Princess Vivia, and at- 
tended by Zilla, who, standing aloof, observed 
all that was passing. Nothing could be more 
winning than her pleasant ways and soft-voiced, 
caressing words to the blind child, but she made 
no allusion whatever to the chain and ruby amu- 
let; while Claudia, inwardly shrinking, bore her- 
self sweetly but irresponsively. This reserve, 
Laodice afterwards hinted to the Princess, was 
the effect of shyness, and the seclusion in which 
she had passed her childhood. 

After several ceremonious visits, Laodice made 
the discovery that under the sombre memories of 
the past in which the widowed Princess draped 
herself, there lay a strong, womanly curiosity, 
which her dignity would not allow her to gratify 
by condescending to ask questions. ‘ ‘ Any other 
woman,” thought Laodice. “who had not 
mourned in seclusion the deepest sorrow that a 
true woman’s heart can know, might gossip, and 
satisfy her longings to know everything that had 
been going on in the fashionable Roman world 
since her absence from it, but in her case it 
would be inconsistent, unbecoming, and — yes, 
almost vulgar; but if she heard incidentally all 
that she was pining to know, that would be quite 
another thing. ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


201 


Laodice was enchanted with her discovery, and 
made her advances skilfully, to be sure of her 
ground; then, when assured that she was right, 
she grew bolder, and began by relating with depre- 
catory air, and expressions of pity for the erring 
— -just as people do now — certain incidents of re- 
cent occurrence, by which one of the oldest and 
proudest families in Rome had been dishonored; 
they had tried to suppress the scandal, but some- 
how it leaked out, and society was aghast. This 
was the beginning, and it met with neither re- 
pulse nor actual encouragement from the Prin- 
cess; only an incisive question nowand then, and 
a keener expression in her eyes, betrayed the in- 
terest she felt in the story. 

When Laodice rose to take leave, well content 
with her work, her hand was pressed, and she 
was invited to come again, not with the rest of 
the world, but as a friend, and at an hour when, 
being alone, the Princess, could more fully enjoy 
her society. From sunset to lamp-light she was 
quite solitary; she was conscious that so much 
brooding over the past was not good for her, and 
would Laodice not come and help her to dispel 
the shadows that cast their gloom over her spirit? 

That is what she said, holding the hand of her 
guest clasped between both of her own. The 
promise was given with secret rapture; Laodice 
felt more deeply than she could express, she said 
in her low, sweet tones, the honor of being ad- 
mitted to a more friendly intercourse with a lady 


202 


PALMS. 


so illustrious for her virtues as the Princess Vivia, 
and she would be sure to avail herself of the priv- 
ilege. And they separated, mutually satisfied in 
having gained an object. 

To lose no time in the execution of her plan, 
Laodice set herself to work to procure reliable 
intelligence of the events and gossip of Roman 
society during the past decade, an easier task 
than may appear; for there were a number of 
noble old women surviving, whose highest plea- 
sure in life was to find patient listeners to their 
reminiscences. To certain of these she assidu- 
ously devoted herself, and secured a rich fund of 
information, to be drawn on as needed. Her 
visits to the Princess increased in frequency, 
until not a day passed without their seeing each 
other. Raodice always came as the last guests 
were taking leave — and remained. After that 
no interruption was allowed; if a late visitor 
chanced to call, he was not admitted, the ser- 
vants having been instructed that the Princess 
was on no account to be disturbed at that hour, 
which was supposed to be devoted to Memory. 

In the last and smallest of the superb rooms, 
and shut off from them by rich silken draperies 
suspended between the pillars, the Princess 
Vivia and Taodice held their secret converse. 
One lofty casement, set in a deep embrasure, 
opened on an ivy-covered balcony, that extended 
the entire length of the wing, and commanded a 
view of far-away mountain heights against the 


PALMS. 


203 


sapphire sky, temples enriched by Grecian art, 
and in the nearer distance a spacious plaza, in the 
centre of which stood a tall, spiral column sur- 
mounted by a statue of Horatius. The acces- 
sories of this retreat were perfect in selection and 
arrangement; and in all the palace there was no 
spot so admirably adapted to the purpose for 
which it was now required, where the peculiar 
intimacy and confidential intercourse which had 
sprung up between the Alban Princess and L,ao- 
dice were like the performance of a secret func- 
tion of the Bona Dea — one offering, while the 
other received the incense, without, as she imag- 
ined, compromising her dignity. 

On a certain afternoon, near sunset, they met 
as usual; the hour was lovely, but neither of 
them felt its influence. From the high window 
cornice, pale lilac clusters of wistarias drooped, 
and green, feathery fringes of the scarlet-starred 
cypress flower waved gracefully to and fro in the 
summer breeze; the spray of the fountain in the 
court, touched by the last glow of the sun, 
looked like red wine; the column and statue of 
Horatius stood dark and clear-cut against the 
rose-tinted sky; bees lingered over their nectar 
in the white acacia blossoms; and swallows, wild 
with glee, darted through the air with merry and 
incessant chirpings — the only sound that accen- 
tuated the stillness, save the two low voices that 
drifted out through the open casement. 

Within, a little aside from the casement, in 


204 


PALMS. 


the shadow of the heavy curtain, to avoid a sus- 
picious draft, the Princess reclined, hearing from 
Laodice the intricacies of an affair which, when 
it happened, had set most of the patrician fam- 
ilies in Rome by the ears. The Princess was 
widowed soon after it began, but having retired 
to her villa, and taken up the role of Artemisia, 
she had never heard the end of it until now. 
Having been intimately acquainted with some 
of the persons concerned, her enjoyment may be 
imagined. 

The light was fading out of the sky when the 
low, pleasant- toned voice of Laodice ceased; her 
story was done, and she rose to go; but, before 
taking leave, inquired after Claudia, adding: 

‘ ‘ I am full of sympathy for the sweet child. 
I can not think of a greater misfortune than to 
be blind — to have all the beauty of earth and 
sky, and the faces of loved ones veiled, from the 
eyes by an impenetrable darkness, as in the case 
of this beautiful and unfortunate little creature! ” 

“ It is most sad. I have not asked many ques- 
tions, but is it true that she has been always 
blind?” said the Princess. “It may have been 
spoken of, but everything was so sudden about 
my coming here, that I do not quite remember. ’ ’ 

“She has been blind from her birth, and it 
has thrown a shadow over the life of Nemesius. 
It is sad indeed, ’ ’ replied Laodice, turning from 
the casement, where she had stood an instant to 
inhale the delicious air. “Yet, stranger than 


{ 


PALMS. 205 

all, ’ ’ she added, ‘ ‘ the unfortunate child does not 
comprehend — she does not know she is blind; 
never having seen, it has been possible to de- 
ceive her.” 

Then she went away, congratulating herself 
that she had advanced still farther into the good 
graces of the Princess, little dreaming that her 
words had been overheard, or by whom. 

Claudia had been expecting her father; but, 
lured by the fragrant air, the silvery cadenzas of 
the fountain, the drowsy hum of the bees, and 
the quick, sweet chirp of the flitting swallows, 
she had stepped from the casement of her own 
apartment out on the ivy-clad balcony, to enjoy 
the sounds which reminded her of her home on 
the Aventine. She moved along with slow, lin- 
geringsteps, breathing in all the sweetness; then 
stood, her face uplifted, her lips parted with a 
smile, one dimpled hand nestling among the ivy 
leaves that covered the marble balustrade, her 
heart filled with a sense of the beauty she could 
not see, when suddenly, in tones clear and dis- 
tinct, she heard a voice somewhere near her say- 
ing: “She has been blind from her birth, and it 
has thrown a shadow over the life of Nemesius. 

. . . The unfortunate child does not compre- 
hend — she does not know she is blind; never 
having seen, it has been possible to deceive her. ’ ’ 

The words came through an open casement, 
near which, unconsciously to herself, Claudia 
was standing; they at once arrested and concen- 


206 


PALMS. 


trated her attention ; she would not have listened 
voluntarily to words not intended for her ears, 
but these smote her like blows, and benumbed 
her power of motion, while her face grew as 
white as the tall Roman lilies in the vase beside 
her; for she knew that she was the “unfortunate 
child ’ ’ the voice alluded to, and now was made 
plain to her the mystery which had so long 
troubled her mind with questions that every one 
evaded. “To be blind means darkness — always 
darkness; but I could bear that, since it has 
been always so, if it did not grieve thee, my 
father!” she murmured. Yes: that was the bit- 
ter thought which, like a sharp thorn, penetrated 
the poor little aching heart. 

For several minutes Claudia stood there mo- 
tionless; no other words reached her from within, 
for the one whose voice she had heard was gone; 
the music of the fountain and the wild chirping 
of the swallows were no longer heeded, for every 
sense was introverted and centered in the thought: 
4 ‘ I am blind, and his heart is sore, and his life 
shadowed by it. I thought the gods were kind, 
but why have they been so cruel to me?” 


PALMS. 


207 


CHAPTER XI. 

A DAY AT THE VILLA. 

With her hand nestling among the ivy leaves, 
her sightless eyes gazing blankly upward, the 
smile frozen on her pale lips, Claudia stood 
motionless on the spot where, as if out of the air, 
the voice which had dispelled the vague mystery 
of her life had reached her. She had compre- 
hended with swift intuition that her blindness 
was what had so often oppressed and disturbed 
her, and that the seal of its darkness would never 
be removed from her eyes. She remembered 
many incidents which, at the time of their oc- 
currence, had seemed strange — among them the 
visit of Ben Asa, the Jew, and how tenderly he 
had touched her eyes, and soothed their paiiy with 
some precious ointment; and also how the ques- 
tions which from time to time agitated her mind, 
had always been evaded by answers that had only 
silenced without satisfying her. Her heart cried 
out against it. Why had they not told her? Why, 
out of tenderness, had they deceived her? Why 
had she been born only to bring sorrow to her 
father, for the love of whom she would lay down 
her life? 

While these and other thoughts were, passing 


208 


PALMS. 


through her mind, the tender, radiant tints of 
palest green, of faintly-blushing rose, of delicate 
purples fringed with gold, faded out of the sky; 
the swallows fluttered into their nests; the bees 
sought the shelter of their hives ; the gray, restful 
shadows of twilight brought a momentary lull to 
the unquiet, tired world. The silvery music of 
the great fountain below pulsed through the 
silence, but it was all unheeded; even the chill 
that now touched the air, and the dew glistening 
among the strands of her golden hair, were un- 
felt. 

u Claudia!” called Nemesius, as he stepped 
out on the balcony, and peered through the 
shadows. He had come in, and gone through 
the rooms looking for the child; but, seeing the 
casement thrown open, and knowing how she 
loved to be in the open air, he concluded that, 
lured by the beauty of the evening, she had 
gone out on the balcony — “Claudia! where art 
thou\ hidden?” 

It was the voice she loved, and it reached her 
heart through the torpor that, like a sudden 
blight, had fallen upon her young life. Neme- 
sius, seeing the faint gleam of her white-robed 
figure as she came slowly out of the shadows to- 
wards him, went to meet her. Her hands were 
held out before her, as if she was groping her 
way ; the graceful elasticity of her step was gone, 
and her movements were timid. Conscious of 
the darkness that wrapped her life, she was 


PALMS. 


209 


afraid. He grasped her hands: they were like 
ice ; and when father and child reached the light 
that streamed through the casement, he saw that 
her face not only looked like marble, but wore a 
strange, frightened expression. 

“How wrong of thee, oh, my sweet child! to 
stay out so long in the night air and dew! Thy 
pretty curls are quite damp,” he said, passing 
his hand caressingly over her head as he led her 
through the casement. “I fear thou art ill. 
Why dost thou look so strange and troubled? 
Repose here, little one, until I fetch thee some 
wine.” 

“My father,” she said, gently restraining him, 
“I have something to tell thee. Sit here close 
by me; put thy arm around me, and let me lean 
my head upon thy breast. Oh, my own father! 
I wished for nothing but to love thee and make 
thee happy, and I have cost thee only sorrow!” 

“Thou! — what sorrow hast thou cost me, my 
innocent dove ? Who or what has put such un- 
real fancies into thy head ? Thou art the sole 
happiness of my life. How, then, art thou my 
sorrow?” exclaimed Nemesius, fearing that the 
moment so long dreaded had at last come. 

“I know thy love, my father; but the voice 
said: ‘She has been blind from her birth, and it 
has cast a shadow over the life of Nemesius.’ 
Then I knew!” she said, softly. 

“The voice? — whose voice?” he asked, in low 
tones, striving to hold in check the wild storm 


210 


PALMS. 


of emotion that wrung his heart, lest finding 
vent it should frighten her. 

“I heard only the words, and they answered 
the strange thoughts that have so often troubled 
me. I knew — oh, so well! — that there was some- 
thing; but Zilla, out of tenderness, would never 
tell me what it was. She did not know all that 
was in my mind, and how I wondered when she 
would tell me of the brightness, the color, and 
beauty of things, whose forms I knew only by 
the touch of my fingers. I asked her what was 
light, and she said it was the smile of the gods. 
I asked how the poets knew of the light of the 
sky and the stars, and of the blue sea, and the 
white-sailed vessels ; and she said they dreamed 
of them, and turned them into verses and songs. 
But I wondered how it could be; and when she 
told me that I too would have such dreams when 
I grew older, I waited; but I know now — I am 
blind. ’ ’ 

“But why let it grieve thee, my gentle one? 
Nothing is changed, and we have been very 
happy together. Am I not with thee, and are 
not all the enjoyments thou hast ever known 
still at thy command?” he asked, striving to 
comfort her, though at a loss how to do so. 

“But the voice said it made thy life sorrowful. 
How can I be happy, knowing that I have 
brought thee only sorrow?” she urged, in the 
same soft, tremulous tones. 

The calm which always dwells on the coun- 


PALMS. 


211 


tenances of the blind, and which had imparted 
such ineffable loveliness to hers, was swept from 
it now by the agitated shadows of her strange 
sorrow, just as a stone when dropped into a clear 
pool breaks its surface into gray, meaningless 
ripples, which efface the beautiful images of sky 
and shore so lately pictured upon it. 

“The gods bear me witness that my sorrow 
was for thee, my loved one, without a thought 
of self,” he said, pressing her head closer to her 
heart “I tell thee again that life holds no object 
so dear to me as thyself; without thee, all would 
be joyless.” 

“And yet thou art not blind: thou canst see 
all that is most beautiful. ’ ’ 

“ I see thy dear face, my child; all else is noth- 
ing to me, while I see and have thee. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ But I can never see thee, my own father, ’ ’ 
she murmured, in tones of indescribable sadness. 

The man’s inmost spirit was shaken, and tears 
— such tears as can be wrung only from the 
depths of a strong, noble nature — quenched the 
angry fire kindled in his eyes by the pain inflicted 
on his blind, helpless one. Fate had mastered 
him, leaving no remedy; he only said: 

‘ ‘ Perhaps thou wouldst not love me as now, 
didst thou see me. ’ ’ 

“Why should I not? Oh, my father! nothing, 
nothing could change that to me which I know 
and love without seeing — the real, true one!” 
she exclaimed, smoothing his face. “But the 


212 


PALMS. 


world is very beautiful ; all should be happy who 
can look upon its brightness.” 

“ It is not all brightness, nor always beautiful, 
my child,” answered Nemesius; “there come 
storms and tempests that darken and rend it; 
there are sights which turn the blood cold to see 
— cruel, horrible spectacles; there are people 
whose evil faces make one afraid. Oh, one has 
need to turn his back, or close his eyes, or wish 
himself blind, to avoid seeing the sickening evils 
that meet one at every turn! No, all is not 
bright and beautiful — ” 

“The gods be thanked! I have at last found 
thee!” interrupted Zilla, who entered hastily, 
her face lighting up with sudden joy when she 
saw Claudia quietly reclining on her father’s 
breast. “I have been so alarmed” — turning to 
Nemesius — “I left her only a moment, to fetch 
a light mantle to throw around her, if the even- 
ing grew chill, and when I came back she was 
gone. I looked through the room, and, -not find- 
ing her, went to ask the Pridcess Vivia’s woman 
if she had seen her, but she had not; then I 
feared she had wandered into some of the long 
corridors, and got lost among the great rooms; 
and I flew up and down, hoping every instant to 
see her, but found no trace — no one had met her; 
then I thought of the balcony, and ran back. 
Oh, dear one, where wert thou hiding?” 

“She was on the balcony, at the farther end,” 
answered Nemesius, with a look so stern and 


PALMS. 


213 

sorrowful that the woman started, and, gazing 
from him to the child, noticed for the first time 
the change in her countenance, and its marble 
paleness. 

“What has happened? O Nemesius! why is 
she so white and still ?’ ’ 

“Thy tender efforts to keep her in ignorance 
of her misfortune have not availed: she knows 
all, ’ ’ was the low, quiet reply. 

“Hadst thou told me from the first, I should 
have got used to it in time; thou didst love me 
too well, good mother. But do not grieve thy- 
self,” said the child, gently. 

“Forgive me! — forgive what was done through 
love ! I but sought to shield thy young life from 
a sorrow that seemed needless,” cried Zilla, 
kneeling before her; and as Nemesius arose, un- 
able to bear the strain any longer, she folded her 
arms around the child. 

“I know,” said Claudia, laying her head on 
Zilla’ s shoulder, with a weary sigh that was al- 
most a sob. 

Nemesius went out on the balcony, leaving 
them together; he was nearly suffocated by sup- 
pressed emotions. Angry surprise, bitter grief, 
and a passionate desire to strike to death who- 
ever it was that, through malice or accident, had 
brought this sudden sorrow to his blind child, 
beat together in wild tumult against his breast, 
and sent the blood mounting to his brain like 
fire. He cursed life, he cursed the gods, he 


214 


PALMS. 


cursed fate. The cool night wind fanned his 
heated forehead, and, relieved by giving vent to 
his emotions, the first fury of his passion began 
to subside; the purple darkness, through which 
the fountain whispered, insensibly soothed him 
to a calmer mood, until only his grief was left to 
wrestle with. He remembered where she was 
standing when he came out on the balcony to 
look for her; he walked to the spot, and the mys- 
tery was explained by the fact that it was nearly 
in front of the casement of the room into which 
the Princess Vivia usually retired after her visi- 
tors had gone. 

“Doubtless,” he conjectured, “the Princess 
had invited a friend to remain with her after her 
reception, for the purpose of enjoying a quiet 
chat, in the course of which, and naturally 
enough, my Claudia’s blindness was referred to 
in the words which malign fate wafted to her 
ears — words sympathetic and harmless in them- 
selves, but quite the reverse in their effect upon 
her sensitive heart. ’ ’ 

That is the way he formulated the possibilities, 
and that was how the accident had really hap- 
pened; but he did not dream who the speaker 
was, nor how wickedly she would have exulted 
had she known how well her words had sped. 
What, then, was to be done? He could do noth- 
ing. Should he speak to the Princess? She 
was not to blame for chance words spoken by a 
guest, which had produced results wide of their 


PALMS. 


215 


intention. Why, then, make her uncomfortable? 
Plainly there was nothing to be done, and he re- 
solved not to speak of the occurrence except to 
Fabian; then, concealing their own grief, they 
would help the child as best they could to bear 
the inevitable with courage. 

Nemesius walked up and down the long bal- 
cony. The ceaseless echo of multitudes tramp- 
ing up and down Rome’s four hundred spacious 
streets, intent on business and pleasure; the din 
of traffic, the ceaseless roll of wagons and char- 
iots over the stone flags, and the dull, confused 
uproar attendant on a centre where nearly two 
millions of human beings were congregated — 
all had sunk into comparative silence; for the 
day, with its individual struggles, its crimes, its 
tears, its triumphs, its crucial tests, was buried 
in night, leaving only ghosts behind. 

Now and then the tramp of soldiers relieving 
guard, scraps of a lover’s song under a distant 
loggia , the silvery notes of a mandolin, echoes 
of laughter and jest from passing groups of young 
patricians intent on pleasure, were the only 
sounds heard in this neighborhood of stately pal- 
aces and storied temples; and presently these 
also drifted away, and absolute silence reigned. 
Suddenly a wild, savage roar reverberated on the 
air like thunder. 

Nemesius started, and threw back his head to 
listen; then he remembered that some fierce lions 
from the Libyan Desert, which had arrived that 


PALMS. 


2l6' 

day at the gate of the Via Latina, outside the 
walls, were to be drawn in their iron-barred 
cages, at night, to the dens of the Flavian Am- 
phitheatre. He knew that the ferocious beasts 
were for the arena, and was well aware of the 
purpose for which they were to be used; but why 
should a dull, sickening horror creep along his 
veins when another hoarse roar, louder because 
nearer than the first, tore through the night? 
Would not these savage, tawny animals avenge 
the honor of the gods by the destruction of those 
enemies — the Christians — who threatened their 
overthrow, derided their sanctity, and defied 
their power? 

“I am not myself to-night,” said Nemesius, 
as he re-entered the room where he had left 
Claudia in Zilla’s arms. 

He found them still there — the woman’s face 
like marble, her eyes aglow with angry fire; the 
child reclining on the pillows of a couch, her 
blind eyes shaded by the dark fringes of their 
half-closed lids ; her hands like lilies, folded list- 
lessly together on her breast. 

“Not asleep yet, my dear one?” he asked, as, 
hearing his footsteeps, she quickly raised her 
head. 

“I was waiting for thee; I could not sleep 
without the good-night kiss, ’ ’ she said, holding up 
her hands to caress his face as he bent over her. 
“And I wanted to tell thee, my father,” she 
whispered, “that I have been thinking — oh, so 


PALMS. 


217 


much! — and that I mean to be brave; for a great 
Roman soldier’s daughter should have courage; 
and then, when I get used to knowing that I can 
not look out of my eyes as others do, because they 
are darkened, I shall not mind it so very much; 
and for the love of thee, and with thee always 
near me, why should I not be happy?” 

Nature had given the child strong powers of 
inductive reasoning; her faculties of thought, 
introverted and concentrated by her obscured 
vision, and cultivated by her daily and hourly 
association with a matured and intelligent mind 
like Zilla’s, gave her a habit of reflecting and 
speaking in a manner unusual to children of her 
age. 

“Why, indeed, sweet one?” he answered, ca- 
ressing her; held almost speechless by her words. 

“I should like to see, if only to see thee,” she 
continued ; ‘ ‘ that would be enough. But I know 
it can never be, ’ ’ she added, with a little, tremu- 
lous sigh. “I am glad to know just how it is. 
The voice said no harm, but only the truth. I 
must have known some day. And Zilla says 
that Homer, the great poet, whose verses she 
reads to me, and which I love to listen to, was 
blind; and I think it was worse for him than for 
me, because he had the grief of losing that which 
I never possessed. That must be very hard. ’ ’ 

“Yes, my gentle one, it is best that thou 
shouldst know; I see it now, although I would 
have guarded thee from it forever had it been 


2i8 


PALMS. 


possible. I did not know how strong and brave 
and wise thou art, or I should not have been in 
such dread of the truth being discovered to thee, 
but would have broken it to thee myself. Now 
kiss me, my daughter; it is late — too late for a 
young bird like thee to be out of its nest. In 
the morning I will breakfast with thee, and then 
we will go and spend the day at the villa. * ’ 

“Oh, what happiness!” she exclaimed, while 
a smile dimpled her face; “how lovely it will be! 
Zilla, didst thou hear? To-morrow we go home 
to spend the whole day — the whole, happy day ! ” 

And so they parted, — Nemesius to try and for- 
get the new pang added to his sorrow, and Clau- 
dia to fall asleep and dream of the happiness that 
the morrow would bring. 

The Princess Vi via did not accompany them 
to the villa; she had an engagement with Laodice 
to drive, by way of the superb arched bridge 
just completed across the Tiber, to visit Caesar’s 
Gardens, where some fine ruins stood against the 
sky, and where beautiful things ran riot in such 
a wild luxuriance of neglect, that nature had al- 
most reclaimed her heritage from art. 

Fabian called early at the palace with flowers 
for Claudia, only to learn that, accompanied by 
her father and nurse, she had started at sunrise 
for the villa on the Aventine. It was the very 
weather for such an expedition. The man pined 
to get out of the great, noisy city; to satisfy his 
desire, and at the same time enjoy the felicity of 


PALMS. 


219 


spending the day with Nemesius and Claudia, 
was an opportunity certainly presented by the 
gods, and must not be neglected. 

Returning to his house, Fabian ordered his 
horse, and lost no time in making his way to the 
villa. He walked the animal leisurely up the 
chestnut avenue, enjoying the refreshing shade 
and the perfumed air; then on to the portico; but 
saw no one until, looking around, he observed 
Zilla sitting alone weaving garlands under a 
wide-spreading acacia tree, whose blossoms, 
gently stirred by the wind, scattered their white, 
fragrant petals upon her like snowflakes. She 
was lost in thought, and did not observe Fabian’s 
presence until he was quite near her; then his 
shadow falling across her flowers made her look 
quickly up, and he instantly saw something in 
the expression of her face which arrested his at- 
tention. s 

“I salute thee,” he said, in his kind courteous 
way; “but why alone? Our little lady is well, I 
hope?” 

‘ 1 She is well. She is with her father — mounted 
on Grillo — somewhere in the gardens. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ She is happy to be here once again, but I 
doubt if it will make her better satisfied with 
Rome. What has happened, Zilla?” he asked 
quietly, observing that her eyes, always sad, now 
wore a stern, troubled expression. 

“She knows all. By a most unfortunate acci- 
dent she has learned that she is blind, ’ ’ was the 
low-voiced reply. 


220 


PALMS. 


An energetic malediction, and a fierce invoca- 
tion to the Furies to devour the one who had de- 
stroyed the peaceful illusion of the child’s life, 
escaped Fabian’s lips; the hot, passionate blood 
of the South asserted itself, surprising his usual 
self-command into a momentary surrender. 
Then he would hear all, and by the time she 
had finished telling him how it had happened, 
his passion had subsided. 

“It was plainly an accident, but, by the gods! 
a most unfortunate one!” was his comment. 

‘ ‘ It may be so ; I am not sure, ’ ’ she answered. 

‘ ‘ May I hear thy reasons, or the facts ? ’ * 

“I have spoken to the commander Nemesius,” 
she replied, with reserve. 

Fabian’s face flushed; in questioning her, he 
had for once forgotten himself; but various mo- 
tives and quick suspicions, no less than his love 
for the blind child, had urged him. , He turned 
away into the avenue, that led by many a bosky 
turn and flower-draped alley to the cascade, 
where he presently found them — Claudia throned 
on the back of Grillo, who was contentedly crop- 
ping a feast of violets and grass; Nemesius 
seated on a moss-grown rock near by, cheerful 
words upon his lips, but a shadow of sorrow in 
his face, as he gazed into his child’s sightless 
eyes. 

Fabian kissed her hand, greeted Nemesius, 
then with high-sounding words saluted Grillo, 
which made Claudia laugh, as he intended; then, 


PALMS. 


221 


as usual, he won her to a merry mood by his ab- 
surd extravagances of speech, and the ridiculous 
things he related, until even the grave com- 
mander, accustomed as he was to his kinsman’s 
versatile peculiarities, wondered while he smiled. 

“Fabian,” she said, suddenly breaking in be- 
tween something that he had finished telling, 
and another story that his lips were open to be- 
gin, ‘ 1 1 have something to tell thee. ’ ’ 

“Of Grillo? Has he been misbehaving? or 
have the doves been fighting?” he laughingly 
asked, but knowing full well what was coming. 

“I am blind, Fabian,” she said, quietly. 

“So am I, by the gods! — stone blind; but I 
have not three pairs of eyes to see for me, and 
look after my ways, as thou hast,” he quickly 
answered. 

“O Fabian! — blind? How can that be? Is it 
dark?” 

“As Erebus, except when things as horrible 
as Chimeras, Furies, and the Harpies are to 
be met with; then I see, when it is the wish of 
my soul to be blind,” said the artful Fabian. 

“O Fabian! is it true?” 

“As true as life! Thank the gods, beautiful 
one, that sights like these can never blast thy 
eyes ” — a day came when Fabian thought of his 
foolish words— “And dost thou know, sweetest 
little lady,” he went on, “that I am perishing 
for some honey-cakes and a draught of wine? 
And, per Bacco , Grillo’s ears threaten a laugh!” 


222 


PALMS. 


“L,et us go, my father; poor Fabian has had 
no breakfast, * ’ she said, sweetly. “But, Grillo, 
thou must not laugh ; it frightens me. ’ ’ 

Fabian had breakfasted, but he wanted to talk 
with Nemesius; his heart was full, and the 
sparkle of his nonsense was flickering. 

After the light repast, which he made a pre- 
tense of eating, jesting the while, and inventing 
pretty myths to amuse Claudia, she went away 
with Zilla to the dove-cote, and he was left alone 
with Nemesius, who, after relating what had 
happened, said: 

“Zilla firmly believes that the words heard by 
the child on the balcony, did not reach her ears 
by accident; for, having gone to the Princess 
Vi via’ s apartment, hoping to find Claudia there, 
the door suddenly opened as she approached, and 
Faodice came out. She thinks that Laodice 
caught sight of the child through the open case- 
ment, and intended that what she said should be 
heard by her. For some unexplained reason, 
Zilla hates Laodice. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can not see what end Uaodice could serve 
by acting as Zilla suspects. If she could thereby 
have advanced any special design, she would not 
have hesitated a moment to consider conse- 
quences. Under all the indolent softness of her 
beauty, she has a cruel nature; still, in this case 
I think Zilla misjudges her,” observed Fabian. 
“Thou hast told me of the sweet child’s courage 
— worthy of the blood that flows in her veins — 
but hast thou noted any change?” 


PALMS. 


223 


“Yes, my Fabian. I observed to-day some- 
thing which convinces me that in the realization 
of her misfortune she has yet to find her worst 
pain. After we reached the villa this morning, 
we came in here, that she might rest while Grillo 
was being caparisoned for her. She has always 
moved fearlessly about the atrium, so familiar is 
she with every part of it; but to-day she seemed 
at fault and uncertain as to her way, holding out 
her hand before her as she stepped timidly here 
and there, while a look of apprehension shad- 
owed her countenance. I watched her closely as 
she groped about, then took her trembling hand, 
and she said, trying to laugh : ‘ I am a little 
coward, after all : I was afraid. ’ ‘Afraid ! Why 
afraid, my child ?’ I asked. ‘ It is so dark, ’ she 
answered. Then I knew that she was, for the 
first time, conscious of the darkness, which no 
glimmer of light can penetrate. How will she 
bear it?” asked Nemesius, his stern, sad face 
overspread with gloom. “Something must be 
done to divert and occupy her mind; and in a 
few days I shall take her away to the sea — to 
Salernum and Caprese — and return here in 
August; I know she will be happier here,” he 
added. 

“Nothing could be better. I have great faith 
in the remedial powers of the salt air,” said Fa- 
bian, strangely touched by what he had just 
heard. “We can do nothing, but must try our 
best to make her happy; and do thou, my Ne- 


224 


PALMS. 


mesius, be the first to appear cheerful under this 
blow of Fate. If she suspects thy sorrow, her 
sensitive heart will divine the cause, and results 
will follow that will pass all human efforts to 
undo. Will the Princess Vivia accompany us? — 
for I too wish to visit Salernum and Caprese for 
my health,” continued Fabian, resuming his 
usual tone. 

“I shall invite her. To know of thy inten- 
tion to join us has already lightened the weight 
on my mind. I cannot thank thee sufficiently, 
my Fabian,” said Nemesius. 

“Am I not seeking my own pleasure by going? 
Thou wilt yet find out what a selfish egotist I 
am,” replied Fabian, smiling. 

“But I have something to tell thee which may 
either amuse or anger thee ; only let it be under- 
stood that I will not be questioned. I have dis- 
covered that Laodice has captivated our Princess, 
who receives her daily on terms of most friendly 
intimacy; and the Bona Dea herself presides 
over their secret conference. But the Princess is 
the most guileless of women, and when she 
thinks herself most impenetrable then she be- 
comes transparent, betraying, in the most amus- 
ing way, all she would conceal. She has given 
me to understand that we should both marry — 
thou for Claudia’s sake, I for my own.” 

“I hope she will leave me out of the ques- 
tion,” said Nemesius, his dark face in a glow of 
indignation. 


PALMS. 


225 


“ She won’t, I assure thee. The toils are be- 
ing woven; the Bona Dea’s aid is invoked, and 
sacrifices not spared upon her altars. Thou art 
the first choice, and Laodice is to be the bride of 
thy destiny! Neither thou nor I can match two 
women single-handed, — one of them simple and 
obstinate, the other as wily as a serpent. I can 
only suggest one remedy. Let the Princess go 
back to her vineyards and peasants on the Alban 
slope ; do not press her to prolong her stay if she 
proposes going home — for as surely as thou dost, 
there will be no escape for thee. ’ ’ 

“Fabian, if I did not know thee to be full of 
eccentric fancies, and possessed of a prolific im- 
agination, I should fear thy brain was slightly 
turned. The gods have no such evil fortune in 
store for me as that of which thou speakest. I 
must beg thee by our life-long friendship never 
to refer again to the possibility of a second es- 
pousal for me,” said Nemesius, gravely. 

‘ ‘ I braved thy displeasure, presuming on thy 
affection, my Achates; but let me finish, as the 
rest concerns myself,” said the irrepressible Fa- 
bian. ‘ ‘ Having disposed of thee, I am destined 
to a maturer fate — no less, believe me, than to 
espouse the Princess Vivia!” 

His gravity overset by this unexpected climax, 
Nemesius laughed as he had not done for years, 
which warmed Fabian’s heart to the core. 

‘ ‘ I have still other news, ’ ’ he went on. “ It is 
rumored this morning that the rich edile, Hjmi- 
8 


226 


PALMS. 


lianus, has liberated his three hundred slaves, 
and that the Christian Pope, Stephen by name, 
has been tracked. ’ ’ 

Fabian knew that, as a Roman citizen, the 
edile had a right to dispose of his slaves as he 
saw fit; as his property, he had absolute power 
to work his will upon them, whether it was to 
slay or liberate ; but while it was not an unusual 
occurrence for a master to torture and destroy 
his slaves, he seldom gave them freedom, unless 
— he became a Christian. It was this which 
attached significance to the event just related. 

u So I have been informed,” answered Neme- 
sius. ‘ ‘ Such occurences are becoming frequent, 
and have but one meaning. As to the Pope, 
there’s a wide difference between tracking and 
catching him, s b long as he has a subterranean 
kingdom, whose secret ways are known only to 
the initiated, in which to conceal himself. Be- 
sides that, he has thousands of followers in every 
class of life — in the palace of Valerian, in the 
meanest huts on the Campagna, in the brightest 
ranks of the army, as well as among the inferior 
soldiery, in the Senate, the Forum, the magis- 
tracy — all of whom watch over his safety, and 
warn him of approaching danger. We know all 
about the vast system of sand-pits which honey- 
comb the Campagna, into which entrance is 
gained through pozzuolana caves, found under 
the weed-grown hillocks in every direction; but 
it is only the Christians who hold the clue to 


PALMS. 


227 


their mysterious labyrinths, and none else can 
be found, however fearless they may be, brave 
enough to venture into those unexplored gal- 
leries, whose intricate tortuous windings be- 
wilder and shut off all hope of return. 

“Ever since the days of Nero, the Christians 
have found refuge and concealment in these 
dismal abodes, whenever for the good of the 
State an edict of extermination has been issued 
against them; the clue to which, transmitted by 
their traditions from one generation to another, 
provides them with a place of safety, where they 
practice the unholy rites of their false religion, 
hatch treason, and where numbers of them live, 
die and are deposited in the countless columbaria 
provided for them. This is the eighth attempt 
made by Rome to destroy the conspirators against 
her gods and her empire; and now, as in former 
times, these old places of refuge swarm with 
them. To a thoughtful mind, this underground 
world affords a symbol, I sometimes fear, of how 
the Roman power, invincible to open foes, is 
being undermined by the despised followers of 
the Christus , unless by a supreme effort we can 
exterminate them.” 

‘ 4 There is no lack of such auguries, I have been 
informed,” answered Fabian, dryly. “Time 
only can solve questions which to the present are 
inscrutable. ’ ’ 

“Let us go into the air,” said Nemesius, as he 
offered a libation in honor of the gods, and stood 


228 


PALMS. 


a moment silent; Fabian did the same, then they 
left the atrium and went down into the beautiful 
gardens in search of Claudia. They found her 
with Zilla under the ilex trees, near the Grotto 
of Silenus; she had Zilla’ s lute, and was touching 
the strings, trying to form the musical notes into 
an air, which evaded her just when she thought 
she had caught it. It was like chasing a but- 
terfly, and almost as alluring. She heard their 
footsteps, but did not lay aside the lute, and when 
her father and Fabian stopped near her, she said 
in her sweet, childish way: 

‘ ‘ I am learning to play, and when I know how 
it will not seem so dark. ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


229 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE CAMPAGNA AND ITS GHOSTS — PAGAN CHIV- 
ALRY AND PAGAN FANATICISM. 

The dawn crept sleepily up the Sabine moun- 
tains, on whose snow-capped peaks the last pale 
stars looked down. The picturesque outlines of 
the Alban hills, with their richly wooded slopes and 
treasures of unsurpassed beauty, were still blurred 
and darkened by the lingering/ shadows of night. 
The massive arches of the great aqueducts, 
stretching along the Agro Rpmano, added to the 
solemnity of the scene wherever the grandeur of 
their proportions, which projected still deeper 
shadows into the dimness beyond, could be dis- 
cerned. The hooting of an owl from an old ivy- 
covered tomb accented the silence; the wind 
swept with a low, plaintive sound through the 
feathery grasses, and echoed like a sigh through 
the pines, which reared their golden stems near 
by. 

Everything looked ghostly, indefinable, shad- 
owy; and when an armor-clad man, mounted on 
a powerful horse, emerged out of the near misty 
gloom, as if out of the air, they seemed the most 
unreal of all. The brute’s hoofs made no sound 
on the soft, grass-grown earth; and his rider, 


230 


PALMS. 


motionless and silent, was content to let him 
choose his own gait until, having reached one of 
the great arches of the Anio Novus,* he drew 
rein. The halt was needed by both, the journey 
from which they were returning having been 
long and rugged. 

The rider was Nemesius, on his way back 
from an old fortress that commanded an impor- 
tant pass in the Sabine range, and which was 
garrisoned by two companies of his own veter- 
ans. News had been brought to him of a 
threatened mutiny, and, after reporting to the 
Bmperor, he had at once mounted, and pro- 
ceeded with reinforcements to the scene. The 
sight of the old commander, under whom the 
soldiers had won their laurels in Gaul, aroused 
their spirit of military obedience, which inac- 
tion, and the long absence of their leader, had 
relaxed. The sight of his flashing eyes, his 
ringing words which recalled the victories of 
the past, excited their enthusiasm and reawak- 
ened their loyalty. However, two of the ring- 
leaders, a German and a Briton, remained for a 
time obstinately sullen and defiant ; but the stern 
military law of that day, which required swift 
execution, removed the last obstacle to the re- 

* Of the two aqueducts referred to — the Claudian and the 
Anio Novus — the latter was by far the grandest, some of its 
arches reaching a height of a hundred and twenty feet, 
while its length, from the walls of Rome to the bosom of 
the mountain whose springs supplied it, was sixty miles. 


PALMS. 


231 


storation of discipline; and the commander, well 
satisfied with the result, after distributing his 
reinforcements among the recently disaffected 
garrison, felt at liberty to depart. He accepted 
an escort as far as the Campagna, then dismissed 
it, and proceeded alone. 

For some time past, the never too friendly re- 
lations between Rome and Persia were becoming 
more strained; there existed between the two 
nations a spirit of smouldering defiance, which 
at any moment was likely to break out in open 
hostilities. Conscious of this, and not averse to 
the issue, Valerian prepared for it by a vigorous 
reorganization of his armies, a strengthening of 
the Roman defences far and near; and, to pro- 
pitiate the gods, he issued more severe and 
unmerciful edicts against the Christians than 
any that had yet emanated from his malign 
soul. • 

This is how it happened that Nemesius was 
released from many of those secret duties which 
for some time past had been imposed on him by 
the Emperor — duties which only his loyalty had 
made endurable; and the reason why he was re- 
stored to the more congenial and ennobling ex- 
ercise of his military functions; and it will also 
explain why he is waiting there alone, among 
the shadows of the Campagna, at an hour when 
only the unblest things of earth and air are 
supposed to be abroad. But no superstitious 
fears disturbed his mind; the indistinguishable, 


232 


PALMS. 


gloomy dimness around him, and the silence, 
were in accordance with his feelings; for his 
thoughts still dwelt on the haunting sorrow of 
his life — the blindness of his child. 

Suddenly he became conscious that living ob- 
jects were moving with stealthy steps somewhere 
near him; perhaps the sound proceeded from 
some wild creature, creeping home to its covert 
in a tufa cave or ancient tomb. It was now re- 
treating — not one, but several footsteps, which 
his keen ear discerned as surely human. Hold- 
ing his breath, his hand grasping his sword, his 
head leaning forward, he listened to assure him- 
self of the direction they were taking, then fol- 
lowed the sounds slowly and noiselessly, until, 
having crossed under the wide arch, he halted 
on the opposite side, and cast a penetrating 
glance around him. Through the gray mist, he 
saw, a short distance in advance of him, -several 
tall figures shrouded in dark cloaks, the hoods 
of which enveloped their heads — figures which 
seemed to glide in swift unison towards some 
object, which he could not discern. Their forms 
were dimly outlined, and, only that they were 
darker, they would have seemed part of the misty 
shadowiness which surrounded them. 

Nemesius was at first startled; he wondered if 
they could be shades of the departed, who, find- 
ing no rest in the realms of the dead, had re- 
turned to earth in the vain quest of repose. 
Keeping his eye fixed on the receding forms, he 


PALMS. 


233 


rode towards them. A ruined tomb intercepted 
his view for an instant, and when he passed it, 
they had disappeared as completely as if the 
earth had suddenly opened and swallowed them. 
He galloped to the spot, but saw no trace of 
them, nor clue of how they had escaped. Were 
they, indeed, shades from Plutonian realms? 
There were one or two pozzuolana pits, an 
ancient travertine quarry, and the ruined tomb, 
all overgrown with brambles, hanging vetches, 
and interlacing vines. That was all. A cow 
lay among the lush grass, lazily chewing her 
cud, and turned her great, sleepy eyes with su- 
preme indifference upon Nemesius; a white goat, 
perched on a fragment of ruined wall, fixed his 
slanting, amber eyes on his, and with twitching 
nostrils seemed to ask the object of his intrusion. 

A moment’s reflection, however, seemed to ex- 
plain the mysterious occurrence. Nemesius felt 
assured that those he had seen were Christians, 
going into the catacombs to assist at the secret 
functions of their banned and outlawed faith. 
Did not the quarries of tufa and travertine, and 
the pozzuolana caves, which had been worked 
from the remotest times to supply Rome and the 
neighboring cities with building material, give 
access to the ancient sand-pits, with which the 
whole extent of the Agro Romano had been 
pierced for the same purpose? Was it not known 
that in these subterranean labyrinths, criminals, 
assassins, robbers, and political offenders, had in 


234 


PALMS. 


former times found refuge from avenging justice, 
and safety from pursuit? And had not even 
Emperors here concealed themselves from the 
swift vengeance of insurrections ? Had not the 
first great persecution of over two centuries be- 
fore, under the edicts of Nero, opened the secret 
ways of these retreats to the hunted followers of 
the Christus , who survived the rack, the flame, 
and the sword: and to their dead, who, having 
sealed their faith with their blood, and won their 
palms, were deposited here in peace? 

From that early time the key to these intricate, 
winding galleries, these mysterious chambers 
and most secret retreats, had been known to the 
Christian priesthood, and transmitted — a sacred 
trust — to those who came after them. And now 
in this fresh persecution, under Valerian, new 
generations of the despised sect, defying the gods 
as their predecessors had done, found safety in 
these wide-spreading, subterranean cities of re- 
fuge, where no man, however brave he might be, 
unacquainted with their mysterious net-work, 
would dare venture in pursuit. 

Nemesius knew that in seven great persecu- 
tions since that of Nero, although hundreds of 
thousands of Christians had been put to death, 
the sect was not extinct; their numbers not less- 
ened, but increased; their strong faith in the 
Christus of their worship not diminished, but 
strengthened. To what principle was to be at- 
tributed such deathless faith? What mighty 


PALMS. 


235 


daemon, at enmity with the gods, helped them to 
defy and endure torture and death under its most 
frightful aspects, rather than compromise their 
faith by the faintest sign, or a whispered word — 
even by so small a thing as casting a single grain 
of incense into a brazier — although by so doing 
they would have purchased life, freedom, honors, 
and riches? Nemesius had witnessed these 
things with his own eyes; he called them acts of 
supreme but misdirected heroism, not discerning 
their supernatural incentive, or the grave ques- 
tions which involuntarily arose in his mind after 
the soul-harrowing spectacles were over. 

The brave commander of the Imperial Tegion 
had heard strange stories of the mysterious ex- 
cavations under the Campagna, which, ever since 
he could remember, had been a subject of inter- 
est to historians, scholars, statisticians, and poets, 
while imagination had run riot in weaving le- 
gends and fables which cast a wilder glamour 
over them; but, after all, actual discovery had 
never reached beyond a limited knowledge of 
their outskirts. His most extravagant concep- 
tions had failed to grasp an idea of what has 
since been revealed to modern science, which 
has not even yet, after fifteen hundred years, 
penetrated the full extent of this vast subterra- 
nean city, “in whose black tunnelled streets,” 
says Story, “lie entombed a mighty population 
of the dead; where tier upon tier, story above 
story, for miles and miles along these silent ave- 


PALMS. 


236 

nues, repose the skeletons of persecuted and 
martyred Christians, each with his lachrymatory, 
now dry, and his little lamp, which went out in 
darkness.” * 

With only a vague knowledge of this vast 
underground kingdom of the dead, and also of 
the living, in times of persecution like the pres- 
ent one under Valerian, is it strange that Neme- 
sius should have thought of it as symbolic of a 
seemingly indestructible principle, which was 
undermining the empire of the gods and of 
Rome? 

Not so strange, in the economy of human 
events, as to see how Almighty God prepared, 
by the hands of the heathen themselves, this 
refuge for His Church in the times of her tribu- 
lation, and graves for her martyred children, 
who enriched His harvests with their blood, 
whose testimony made sure the foundations of 
His city, whose palms are its glory, and whose 
bodies are its sacred treasure. 

Not so wonderful as that Rome, throned on 
her seven hills, the very abomination of desola- 
tion, treading out the blood of the saints in the 


* How few, comparatively speaking, of these catacombs 
have yet been explored! But it is supposed they extend as 
far as Ostia. Northcote tells us that “the united length of 
all the streets in the Cemetery of St. Agnes alone would be 
fifteen or sixteen miles, ’ ’ and reckons the length of all the 
streets in all the catacombs at not less than nine hundred 
miles. According to Father Machi’s calculations, the Ro- 
man catacombs contain nearly seven million tombs. 


PALMS. 


237 


wine-press of her vengeance, should, to her own 
shame and their glory, have preserved with jeal- 
ous care faithful records of their testimony for 
Christ; and that at last, humbled to the dust, 
she should become the heritage of the Cross. 

As Nemesius proceeded slowly towards the 
city, his mind occupied with grave conjectures, 
morning blushed against the snowy crests of the 
Sabine heights; the gossamer mists, rising 
slowly from the plain, caught the glow, and 
floated on to scatter roses before the advancing 
day. There was a sudden gleam, then a flood of 
radiance swept down the wooded slopes, dispers- 
ing the last purple shadows, burnishing the trees 
with gold, steeping the whole Campagna — its 
farm-lands, its villages, its pastures of billowy 
green, its stately villas, its fields of grain ripen- 
ing for the harvest, its countless herds, the noble 
aqueducts, the groves of orange and olive — in a 
great tide of golden light, which, swiftly spread- 
ing, cast the benison of its glory across to the 
blue dancing waters of the sea. 

Between the far-stretching purple shadows 
cast by the aqueducts, as the light streamed 
through their lofty arches, scarlet poppies, yel- 
low cistus , and pink-frilled daisies, made oases of 
rich and varied hues. The wild flowering vines 
that clambered up the ancient ruins that were 
to be seen here and there, the flaunting gorses 
and wall-flowers which had found a home for 
themselves high up between the travertine 


PALMS. 


238 

blocks of the aqueducts, over whose mighty 
arches ivies were already weaving their emerald 
net-work, brightened and glistened and smiled 
in the light just risen out of darkness; while 
above all the blue air was musical with the flut- 
ing of larks, and the softer warble of thrushes. 

All the wide, beautiful spaces over the Agro 
Romano, as far the eye could reach, were astir 
with life. Thousands of sheep followed the pip- 
ing shepherds to rich pasturage, looking like 
great snowdrifts among the green; buffaloes, 
surly, savage-looking beasts, with short legs, 
curled horns, and shaggy coats, patiently 
browsed while waiting to begin their dreary 
work of hauling enormous loads; wide-horned, 
gray oxen bowed their necks to the yoke, and 
to the wild songs of the Campagna, as old as the 
hills which embraced it; butteros , with long 
poles in hand, had an active task to keep the 
wild colts, of which they had charge, from stray- 
ing beyond reach of all efforts to catch them, 
even by the help of the lassos they carried. 

Gay bands of peasants, driving donkeys laden 
with panniers of fruit, vegetables, and other 
marketable things, were hurrying, with song 
and jest, towards the city gates, their wares cov- 
ered with flowers, as was every step of the way 
under their feet; and now and then a squad of 
mounted soldiers swept by, intent on some mili- 
tary errand that brooked no delay. Under all 
this brightness and beauty of blue skies and 


PALMS. 


239 


golden sheen, lay the dead cities of Latium; 
and under them the cities of the silent, waiting 
dead. 

The Campagna of to-day, over which a dreamy 
loveliness broods; where deadly miasms lurk 
amid its vine-clad ruins and blooming wastes ; 
where the beautiful hills, unchanged, still guard 
its borders; where the sea along its coast 
crowns the departed glory with a pale aureole 
of light; where the Roman sunshine pours its 
gold, and broiders it in arabesques of purple and 
green and crimson, and where its unforgotten 
past holds the mind in thrall as under a spell — 
is not like the Campagna of the year of our 
Lord 257, in the reign of Valerian Imperator, 
about the time in which the scenes of the pre- 
sent story are laid. 

It had been, it is true, in days remote from 
that period, the threshing-floor of hostile and 
semi-barbarous invaders, who had trodden out 
its rich cities, leaving only their husks in heaps 
of formless ruin to mark the sites where they 
had stood, until the soil of centuries buried them 
out of sight, and nature tenderly draped the 
mounds over them with richest verdure, with 
delicate flowers whose tints were caught from 
the rainbow, and vines whose interlacing arms 
seemed to shield them from desecration. But 
now it was marked by ruins of stately temples, 
of ancient tombs, and crumbling towers of a 
later time; and scattered here and there stood 


240 


PALMS. 


old gray villas, half buried in groves of olive 
and palm, that seemed to defy the mutations of 
fate. 

However, while the cities of the Campagna 
were no more, a vast system of tillage, the heavy 
snows* that lay upon it during the winter 
months, the sacred groves bordering the Pontine 
fens, whose luxuriant foliage absorbed their fatal 
miasms, made it a region, which as Livy, Strabo, 
Horace, Pliny, and Lucretius — each in his day 
— enthusiastically testify, was unsurpassed for 
its salubrity and beauty. Its coast was enriched 
by flourishing cities, and upon its green shores 
the emperors, from Tiberius Caesar to Constan- 
tine, had elegant villas, to which they resorted 
in summer; while as long as the hot weather 
prevailed, distinguished poets, Roman patri- 
cians, and wealthy citizens, inhabited their own 
luxurious dwellings by the sea, diffusing pros- 
perity among the peasants and fishermen, who 
supplied their tables, by a liberal expenditure of 
money, f 

* Strabo, Pliny, Fenestrello, Livy, and other writers, 
speak of the severe winters, heavy snows, and frozen rivers. 

f Those who have felt the spell of the Roman Campagna 
— apart from tourists’ vexations — will not wonder that my 
pen lingers on a subject which has not only a deep and 
sacred interest to the Christian mind, but is also draped in 
lore which appeals irresistibly to the lover of classic history 
and poetry. As regards the readers to whom the subject is 
not familiar, we can only hope they may find enough inter- 
est in it to lead them at some future day to explore the 
scenes which we have briefly outlined. 


PALMS. 


241 


Such was the Campagna on the morning we 
have described, with its pure, healthful air, and 
its hardy, light-hearted people, who, buoyant 
with life, were never saddened or stayed by 
thought of the countless generations that, in the 
repose of Hope, lay silent beneath it. 

Nemesius had reached the suburbs of the city, 
outside the walls, near the gate of the Via Ar- 
dentina, whose denizens, of the lowest class, 
were mixed with many of the most degraded. 
A small wine-shop here and there and one or 
two miserable inns were being opened to the 
sunshine and air, as well as to any early cus- 
tomer that might straggle in. A few ragged, 
homeless beggars were prodding among garbage 
heaps, looking for scraps wherewith to appease 
their hunger. A squad of soldiers, who had 
been on guard all night, tramped heavily along 
the narrow, stone-paved street, on their way to 
the barracks; and two dogs, each holding the 
ear of the other in the vicious grip of its sharp 
teeth, as, erect, savage and growling, they 
struggled together, were the only signs of life 
apparent in the sleepy quarter. 

Suddenly a wild, piercing shriek rent the air 
— a shriek such as only a woman in instant peril 
could utter. Nemesius spurred his horse in the 
direction whence it came, and saw a black- 
browed man, of large stature and muscular build, 
in pursuit of a half-clad woman, whom he over- 
took and seized, held back her head with one 
8 * 


242 


PALMS. 


hand, and rendered struggle impossible by twin- 
ing his leg like an iron trap around her feet. 
In his right hand gleamed a short, two-edged 
knife, its blade broad and keen, which he up- 
lifted, and in another instant would have 
plunged into her bare bosom, had not Nemesius, 
with the quickness of thought, sprang from his 
horse, strode swiftly behind him, and grasped 
his arm with a sudden and powerful wrench. 
Surprised and thrown off his balance, the ruffian 
loosened his grasp on the woman, to defend him- 
self against his unseen assailant, but received a 
blow on the head from an iron-gloved hand, 
which sent him reeling into the street, where he 
fell, stunned and motionless. 

The woman, a coarse, handsome virago, whose 
long, black hair fell in disordered masses around 
her, had fainted in the arms of an old crone, 
who howled piteously over her. By this time a 
group of half-dressed men and women, who had 
been aroused from their sleep by the woman’s 
shriek, gathered around, and now a party of the 
civic guard appeared on the scene. 

‘ ‘ Manacle that brute, and take him to prison 
at once; he has just tried to murder a woman,” 
said Nemesius, addressing them. His tone was 
commanding, and, recognizing him, they pro- 
ceeded to obey. 

“ It is the first time, by Cerberus, that the prize- 
fighter Cecco has ever been thrown off his legs! ” 
exclaimed a man, grinning. 


PALMS. 243 

“I always thought his conceit would have a 
fall; it’s in the nature of things,” laughed an- 
other. If the bully had any friends, they were 
not there, it seemed. 

“It wasn’t his conceit altogether, Burbo, but 
a hand better skilled in pugilism than his own,” 
observed a man, gazing admiringly at the tall, 
stately form of Nemesius, who moved towards 
the woman to ascertain if she was living or dead. 
At that moment she opened her great, black 
eyes, and gazed with a wild, fixed stare on his 
face. He dropped a gold coin into her hand, 
which lay, palm up, by her side, and saw that 
her fingers instantly clutched it; then he turned 
back, and was about mounting his horse, when, 
impelled by an impulse which he could neither 
resist nor explain, he asked an old man who 
the woman was. 

“She is Cypria, the — ” (what, need not be 
written). “ She’s as bad as Cecco.” 

“She’s a woman /” was the grave, brief re- 
sponse of Nemesius, as he rode away. 

They all wondered who this officer of rank 
could be, who had turned out of his way to the 
help of such as they. It was not usual. 

“That,” said a soldier, who had sneaked into 
a wine-shop to get out of sight, when he saw 
who had appeared on the scene — “that is the 
great commander, Nemesius.” 

It was with a sense of relief that Nemesius got 
away from the place; he put his horse in a trot, 


244 


palms. 


passed within the Ardentina gate, and traversed 
the streets leading most directly to his destina- 
tion. But his design was thwarted; for as he 
turned ijito the Vico Mamertino, the way was ob- 
structed by a turbulent crowd in advance of him, 
which surged around some object in its midst, 
towards which its wrath was directed. A mob 
in a Roman street was too common an occur- 
rence for notice, but this was not one of the 
usual sort. It was not composed of the worst 
elements of the population of Rome, although 
they were there in force ; there were also officials 
and respectable citizens. In the centre of the 
surging human mass, towering above it, appeared 
the iron helmets of soldiers. 

Nemesius had approached, and was now near 
enough to hear and see from his saddle what it 
all meant. It was only a Christian Deacon — 
one Laurence — for whom there had been a long 
search, who had been apprehended that morning 
on the Appian Way, and was now being con- 
ducted to the dungeons of the Mamertine. They 
would have goaded him along, but there was no 
need ; for, with head erect, his noble face radiant 
with supreme hope, and his eyes full of serene 
courage, his steps required no urging. Had not 
his persecutors pressed so closely upon him, he 
would have outstripped them in his haste towards 
the palm and crown of the final victory he had 
so long hoped for. Their shouts of derision, 
their threats of the lions, their blows and insults 


PALMS. 


245 


did not move his composure, and he opened not 
his lips, except, like his beloved Lord and Mas- 
ter, to pray for those who thirsted for his blood. 

The swirling mob now approached a statue of 
Jupiter — one of the hundreds erected to ?his false 
deity which adorned Rome* — and a thousand 
roaring voices shouted to the holy captive to 
make an act of homage to their god. He cast 
his eyes over the circle of furious faces that sur- 
rounded him ; the mad human bellowing dropped 
into the silence of expectation, and while every 
eye watched for the demanded sign, his clear voice 
ascended like a paean of triumph, and his words 
feel upon every ear: “The idols of the Gentiles 
are silver and gold, the work of the hands of 
men. But our God is in heaven; He hath done 
whatsoever He would. ’ ’ f 

In another moment the Christian deacon would 
have been torn to pieces, had not the soldiers, 
who had orders to consign him to the keepers of 
the Mamertine, fearing punishment through fail- 
ure to obey, dispersed the mob by main force, 
regardless where or on whom their blows fell; 
their zeal quickened at sight of Nemesius, 
in whose eyes, they well knew, a negligent 
performance of duty would find no excuse. A 
few minutes later, and the massive doors of the 
frowning prison closed on their saintly victim. 

*Rome had eighty gold statues of Jupiter, and sixty-six 
of ivory, besides others of marble and bronze. — Ampdre. 

f Psalm cxiii. 


PALMS. 


246 

To look in for a brief moment at bis child, see 
her face brighten with sudden joy at the sound 
of his footsteps,* and give her tender greeting, 
was all that Nemesius allowed himself on reach- 
ing his palace; for, after partaking of refresh- 
ments, which he much needed after his fatiguing 
journey and long fast, doffing his armor, and 
changing his attire, he was — in qbedience to a 
note which had been presented to him as he dis- 
mounted from his horse — to join the Emperor at 
the Baths of Sallust,* the favorite resort of Vale- 
rian, where his hours of leisure were spent in the 
enjoyment of pleasures indulged in by debased 
natures. 

The Emperor was in a gay mood, the cause of 
which, after the usual florid salutation, he im- 
parted to Nemesius with great glee, as, wrapped 
in a loose robe of fine linen, he reposed in his 
perfumed bath. 

“The commanders,” he began, “ordered by 
us some time ago to examine the military pulse 


* These establishments of the ancient Romans were on a 
grand scale. Some of the baths were like miniature lakes; 
others — the warm and vapor-baths — were smaller. They 
were fitted up with every imaginable luxury. In apartments 
adorned with beautiful statuary, mosaic floors, and frescoed 
walls, the rarest wines and choicest viands were served. 
There were libraries which contained the best authors, and 
suites of private rooms, where, uninterrupted, the patrician 
guests could enjoy their secret revels. Gaming was the 
amusement most indulged in. Of the Roman baths, those 
of Titus, of Sallust, of Caracalla, Diocletian, and others, 
were, at different periods, the most celebrated. 


PALMS. 


247 

— for one never can be too sure of the soldiery — 
brought us the most favorable reports this morn- 
ing. Some vague rumors of war had reached 
the camps, and the prospects of active service 
had already stirred up the wildest enthusiasm. 
The Praetorian Guard has spoken, and holds it- 
self in readiness to take its old place in the van 
when the imperial eagles lead. And, my Neme- 
sius, as a sign that the gods are propitious to the 
great enterprise on hand, and have accepted the 
zealous and renewed severity of our efforts to ex- 
terminate the seditious followers of the Christus, 
several of the most noted ringleaders of this sect 
have been taken into custody, and await the pun- 
ishment their crimes deserve, which, by the 
gods! shall be neither light nor easy. 

“Thou wilt rejoice to learn that ^milianus, 
the edile, who has become the most arrogant, 
contumacious, and defiant contemner of the 
gods, is expiating his folly in the depths of the 
Tullian; and, to crown all, just as we were pre- 
paring to come hither to enjoy a little relaxation, 
a messenger arrived to report to us the arrest of 
one Laurence, who, it is said, possesses magical 
power to work wonders, by which he deludes the 
people, and has a tongue so eloquent that he 
seduces thousands to his false belief. The de- 
struction of such a leader will strike a heavy 
blow at the pestiferous sect. By the infernal 
gods! we shall see some rare sport at the Temple 
of Mars and the Flavian Amphitheatre before 


PALMS. 


248 

many days!” exclaimed the brutal tyrant, with 
a hoarse gurgle in his throat, which meant 
laughter. 

Nemesius mentioned having met Laurence an 
hour or two before, as he was being conducted, 
under guard, to the Mamertine. “And, having 
seen him,” he continued, “ I can readily imagine 
him to be a dangerous man. One whose face 
shines like a god’ s when he addresses the people, 
as I saw his do, is a dangerous thaumaturgist, 
the success of whose miracles lies in his power 
of impressing the imagination of those who listen 
to him. ’ ’ 

“It will be a wonder if by these arrests we 
don’t find the way to their treasures, which they 
manage to conceal so successfully. By Plutus! 
our need for money has never been greater than 
now, that another war threatens. ’ ’ 

After some time spent in the discussion of 
secret matters, Valerian sounded a note on his 
gold whistle to summon his attendants, and,, 
turning to Nemesius with a throaty laugh and 
wicked leer, remarked: 

1 ‘ Thou wilt find a new group of marble nymphs 
beyond that curtain; await us there. By the 
time these slaves are through with us, the pran- 
dial* feast will be spread, to which we invite 
thee. ’ ’ 

The invitation was a command. Nemesius 
signified his assent, and, drawing aside the 


Corresponding with our lunch. 


PALMS. 


249 


drapery, passed beyond, into a small, exquisitely 
fitted apartment.* The statuary to which his 
attention had been directed, he found repulsive 
to his severely classic taste, as being suggestive 
of base ideals; and he turned willingly from it to 
occupy himself with a volume of Lucretius, 
which was lying open on a reading-stand of 
carved citrean wood. 

When Valerian, fresh from his bath, redolent 
with sweet unguents, arrayed in white and 
purple, his jewelled solece loosely strapped on his 
bare feet, his large, fat fingers blazing with superb 
gems, and a wreath of sweet laurel encircling 
his brutal head, at last made his appearance, 
Nemesius was so absorbed in the sophistical 
arguments of Lucretius, in his attempt to prove 
that the soul is mortal, he was unconscious of 
his presence, until he heard him say, in jeer- 
ing tones: “Philosophy before pleasure is the 
legend of thy life. We fear our nymphs do not 
please thee.” 

“Forgive my inattention,” he said, rising, 
and not unobservant of the sarcastic expression 
of the Emperor’s face. “I must confess a pre- 
ference for a higher idealization. Under certain 
conditions, if art be too true to nature, its de- 
lineations must of necessity be coarse and sugges- 
tive. The early sculptors of Greece understood 
this nice distinction in their chaste and grace- 
ful creations.” 


*We use this word, not in its European sense, meaning a 
suite of rooms, but in the English, which means only one. 


250 


PALMS. 


He replaced the volume of Lucretius on the 
the reading-desk, thinking that never had he 
seen Valerian present so repulsive an aspect. 

“We fear thy tastes are too severe for the 
times, and will strip thy life of many pleasures. 
But come: we are as hungry as a German wolf; 
let us feast and be merry,” he said, leading the 
way to a beautiful apartment, where a luxurious 
feast of rich viands, rare fruits, and old wines 
awaited the imperial palate, which already 
watered at the spicy, savory odor that pervaded 
the atmosphere. 

Strains of soft music from unseen performers 
breathed on the air, that was made fragrant by 
an invisible spray of perfume, which, in gentle 
dews, moistened and brightened the garlands and 
flowers that decorated the table. Nothing that 
could delight the senses was absent. The pran- 
dial feast was succeeded by those enjoyments of 
a baser sort in which Valerian’s low nature was 
accustomed to indulge; and, knowing by past 
experience that his guest would not participate 
in them, he graciously dismissed him, little 
dreaming of the disgust and contempt the latter 
felt towards him. 

As if to purify himself from the contamina- 
tion of the last few hours, Nemesius immersed 
himself in a vapor-bath, then plunged into a cold 
one, and by the time he emerged into the sweet, 
balmy open air, where every object was tinted 
with the after-glow of sunset, the offended dig- 


PALMS. 


251 


nity of his noble ' nature had resumed its usual 
equipoise. The thought of his sweet, blind 
Claudia, which, like a sacred bird, had been 
scared away by the too near approach of pollu- 
tion, now again folded its soft, sad wings in his 
heart, speeding him more quickly towards her. 

The group that met his eye as he paused a 
moment on the threshold of the child’s richly 
decorated reception room, bright with lights and 
flowers, awoke an involuntary smile on his grave 
face — the Princess Vivia in the midst, a sad smile 
on her lips, which the merry twinkle in her eyes 
belied; Claudia on a low, cushioned seat beside 
her, with one arm thrown across the Princess’ 
1 lap, against which she confidently leaned ; Fabian 

in front of them, telling one of his fabulous 
stories, full of quips and fancies, which irresisti- 
bly moved his hearers to laughter; and Zilla a 
little apart, regarding them with a sweet, grave 
expression on her beautiful pale face, which 
meant: “I would die to have this last!” 

Zilla, ever on the watch, glanced around, and 
caught sight of Nemesius, who laid his finger on 
his lip, and beckoned her to him. No one but 
herself had seen him; and, rising, she excused 
herself by saying, in her soft, quiet tones: 
“There’s a draught; I will close the curtain at 
the entrance. ’ ’ And she glided past the group 
without interrupting them, they were so well 
used to her watchful ways about Claudia. 

She stepped out, closing the heavy drapery 


PALMS. 


252 

over the entrance behind her, and stood in the 
ante-room, where Nemesius was waiting. 

“I wished to liear how Claudia is, and how it 
has been with her during my absence, ’ ’ he said, 
speaking low. 

“She is well in health. She has missed thee, 
and wished for thee, as she always does. Now 
she will be brighter for thy presence. ’ ’ 

“Tell me — I wish to hear if the knowledge of 
her misfortune has made her unhappy, or how it 
has affected her. ’ ’ 

“It is a new and trying phase in her life, and 
she can not accommodate herself to it all at 
once. Since she knows that she is in darkness, 
she longs for the light. When she moves about 
alone, she is always fearful of striking against 
something, or of stumbling and falling. She 
has an insatiate desire to know exactly how 
everything looks; her questions are endless; 
then she sighs, and wishes she could see; and, 
knowing their power, wonders if the gods can 
not open her eyes, and why they do not pity her. 
I say what I can to comfort her, but I can no 
longer deceive her; it is impossible, knowing 
her own case as she does. I can only try to in- 
spire her with courage, until my words sound 
almost heartless to myself. She has learnt some 
little airs on my lute, which give her great pleas- 
ure. Fabian has been here daily, and the Prin- 
cess — ever since she heard what happened — has 
been so kind and motherly in her attentions, 
that Claudia begins, I think, really to love her.” 


PALMS. 253 

“Ah!” said Nemesius, with an intonation 
that expressed pleasure. 

“She has one dread — shall I tell thee all?” 

“Yes, all.” 

“She can not bear the thought of going to 
Salernum and Capreae; she says it is too far. 
She has asked a thousand questions about the 
sea, of which I think she has a secret dread; for 
distance and vastness are incomprehensible to 
her mind. The idea of them is abysmal; and 
when she tries to realize their meaning, she 
gasps for breath, and covers her face with her 
hands, saying: ‘I cannot! — it is no use!’ She 
would be far happier at the villa. The Jew- 
healer has seen Fabian, and thinks, all things 
considered, that the sea- trip should be avoided.” 

“And thou — what is thy own opinion, Zilla?” 

“I agree with him, as she is so averse to it, 
and her health does not require the change,” she 
answered, timidly. 

‘ ‘ I may change my plans. A war is impend- 
ing; if it breaks out I shall have to enter the 
strife at the head of my legion, and must pro- 
vide for my child some safe sanctuary, out of 
harm’s way,” he continued abstractedly. 

A thousand thoughts surged through the heart 
of Nemesius; he walked away to the other ex- 
tremity of the long, narrow ante-room, and Zilla 
re-entered the reception room, just as Fabian 
brought his story to a most astonishing and ridic- 
ulous climax, for which he was rewarded by the 


254 


PALMS. 


merry laughter of his audience, in which he him- 
self joined as heartily as if he had been listening 
to a first-rate comedy instead of reciting one. 

“Until to-night, I feared that all the impro- 
visators of Italy were dead,” said the Princess 
Vi via, when she recovered her breath. It had 
been too much for her; the honest laugh, that 
had at first twinkled only in her eyes, had burst 
through all the restraints of widowed propriety 
upon her lips, her face, and put the whole of her 
well-conditioned body in a quiver of mirth. 

Nemesius came in, and Fabian sprang forward 
to greet him. With a cry of joy Claudia’s arms 
were in another instant around his neck; and 
the Princess, who by a violent effort had sud- 
denly resumed her widowed expression, held out 
her hand, which Nemesius raised to his lips and 
kissed, with that graceful and deferential air 
which in all ages has been the most delicate 
homage that can be offered by a man to a 
woman. 

It was a happy evening, supremely so to 
Claudia; and when at last the Princess — who, 
whenever she could do so with propriety, kept 
the poultry hours of the Alban hill — arose to re- 
tire, Nemesius accompanied her to her apart- 
ments, and asked her permission to say a few 
words, if it would not be troublesome. In reply, 
she cordially invited him to enter, wondering 
what on earth was coming. When he had seen 
her comfortably seated in her cushioned chair, 


PALMS. 


255 


and drawn a footstool for her feet, he stood lean- 
ing against a pillar, so silent that he might have 
been taken for a statue of Harpocrates; for the 
thoughts that were at the moment revolving in 
his mind concentrated and absorbed every fac- 
ulty. 

‘ ‘ I have a great favor to ask, ” he at last said. 

‘ ‘ Consider it granted, whatever it may be, if 
it lies within the scope of my power,” she 
gravely answered, impressed by his manner, and 
a certain emotion which he could not entirely 
suppress, but which possibly would not have 
been apparent to any eye except a woman’s. 

‘ 1 1 am a man of but few words. Promise me 
to refuse without hesitation what I shall ask, if 
it be not agreeable or convenient. Thou must 
have heard ere this that we may have war with 
a foreign power; every messenger that comes 
into Rome is expected to bring information of 
aggressions which will not allow the contest to 
be postponed a single day. It is only a question 
of time. Thou knowest the fortunes of war. I 
shall go to the front with my legionaries, and 
may never return. In case I fall, wilt thou be 
a mother to my blind, helpless child?” 

“The gods avert such a fate from thee!” ex- 
claimed the Princess, with quick tears; “but — 
but — but should they so order it, yes: I will in- 
deed take thy sweet child for my own. ’ ’ She 
held out her plump, white hands, which he 
grasped, and then, leaning over, kissed her fore- 
head. 


256 


PALMS. 


“So we seal the compact. To-morrow I will 
make all the necessary arrangements transfer- 
ring her to thy care, and will leave to Fabian 
the guardianship of her fortune — a charge which 
would be too troublesome for thee. Receive my 
grateful thanks for thy ready acquiescence in my 
wishes, and the immense relief it has given me, ’ ’ 
said Nemesius, his few words meaning more 
than a hundred spoken by most men. 

“My Nemesius, my kinsman,” continued the 
Princess, nervously, “wilt thou listen to some- 
thing which I, in turn, have long wished to say 
to thee — something which I have much at heart, 
but dare not give utterance to without thy prom- 
ise not to be offended?” 

“There must be no question of offence between 
us, after what has just passed. It is possible I 
may have to refuse thee. It will give me great 
pain to do so, should imperative reasons allow 
me no alternative. Open thy heart to me, then, 
frankly and with confidence,” replied Nemesius, 
in low, kind tones. 

‘ ‘ Speaking of thy lovely child and the war, ’ ’ 
said the Princess, girding up her courage — for 
having got thus far, she saw she would have to 
keep on — “the war, which may not come, or if 
it should, there’s no reason why thou shouldst 
not escape its perils — would it not be better, for 
thy own happiness and her future, if thou wert 
married? It is thy duty to give to thy daugh- 
ter a mother, who would tenderly care for her, 


PALMS. 


257 


and train her according to her rank. I know of 
one, beautiful, accomplished, and of high birth 
— not unknown to thee — who would fulfil thy 
highest requirements, and preside with dignity 
over thy home — ” 

“Dear Princess,” said Nemesius, gently, as 
the emotions of the Princess gathered in a lump 
in her throat, and threatened to choke her, “ac- 
cept my thanks for thy interest in my welfare, 
which I am convinced is sincere and well-meant; 
but my heart is wedded to the bride of my youth, 
whose place no other can ever fill. As to my 
child, nature can sever, but never renew the sa- 
credness of such a tie as that between a child 
and the mother who gave it life. L,et what has 
passed between us on this subject go into obliv- 
ion. May happiest dreams visit thee, my gentle 
kinswoman ! ’ ’ 

The Princess had covered her face with the 
end of her scarf, ashamed, sorry, and angry with 
herself for having ventured on such a delicate 
subject with a man so reserved and unlike other 
men as Nemesius; and when she removed it, and 
timidly lifted her eyes to his in mute appeal for 
pardon, he was no longer there. 

9 


258 


PALMS. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

A BLOW — REVOLT OP THE SLAVES OF HIPPO- 
LYTUS — FABIAN’S VIEWS. 

True to his word, Valerian gave renewed im- 
petus to the persecution by the increased severity 
of his edicts, threatening extreme penalties to 
those charged with their execution should they 
fail to carry them out to the letter. Throughout 
the Roman Empire the tempest raged, losing no 
iota of its savage cruelty by distance from its 
centre. 

Daily, from the prisons and the dungeons of 
Rome, like sheep led to the slaughter, the vic- 
tims of his wrath were offered two alternatives — 
to deny Christ, or to be given over to the tortur- 
ers, to the wild beasts of the arena, and to the 
flames; to be stifled in the cloaca or drowned in 
the Tiber; their places ever replenished by 
others, who also rejoiced in their bonds, fearing 
not those who destroy the body; while, as through 
broken prison bars, their glad souls escaped to 
their eternal triumph, to receive their palms 
from him in the likeness of whose Passion they 
had suffered. 

Can we not imagine the angelic sentinels on 
the outposts of the celestial country echoing the 


PALMS. 


259 


plaintive threnody of the Prophet as that mul- 
titude, radiant with solemn joy, approached: 
“Who are these that come from Edom, with 
dyed garments from Bosra? . . . Why, then, is 
their apparel red, and their garments like theirs 
that tread in the wine-press?” * 

And yet the daily business of life, its whirl, its 
struggles, its petty ambitions, went on as usual 
in Rome’s spacious streets; sounds of mirth were 
in the air, music and laughter in her palaces, 
peace and love in her homes. The games went 
on in her amphitheatres; gladiators contended 
in her circus arenas; the festivals of the gods 
were celebrated with gorgeous rites; the smoke 
ascended from her altars of sacrifice in the tem- 
ples; her Forum resounded with oratory, her 
theatres rang with applause; while the golden 
sunshine crowned her hills with splendor, and 
the tide of human passions rolled on, undis- 
turbed by the fact that a few miserable Chris- 
tians, who defied the gods and conspired against 
the state, were being torn to death by savage 
beasts, or tortured until life, like the Arctic sun, 
seemed about to be swallowed up in darkness, 
but which straightway arose out of the midnight 
to a new and brighter day. 

* Isaias, lxiii. The sacred text reads : “ Who is this that 

cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bosra ? Why 
is thy apparel red and thy garments,” etc., etc. 

By Edom and Bosra, commentators say may be understood 
cities and places of the wicked. 


26 o 


PALMS. 


Fabian bad left the palace of Nemesius on the 
preceding evening, highly encouraged in his the- 
ory that, by certain methods, Fate could be cir- 
cumvented in Claudia’s case, and her life be 
made happy noth withstanding her blindness; 
and he was quite willing to bide the time which 
it would require to realize his hopes. 

Stepping gayly along in the moonlight, a 
thought crossed his mind which had once or 
twice before, in the course of the day, annoyed 
him. He had a certain protege to whom he was 
much attached, and in whose career he had taken 
a great interest, but whom he had neither seen 
nor heard from for several days. This was Eva- 
ristus, the young orator whom he had one night 
at the imperial palace pointed out to Laodice as 
a budding Cicero, and who since then had more 
than fulfilled the expectations of his friends. 
Fabian, in his own delicate and irresistible way, 
had assisted him liberally — for Evaristus was 
poor — determined that the want of money should 
not retard his studies, and consequently his ad- 
vancement; in fact, he was his good genius, and 
felt that he would be more than rewarded by the 
success which would crown his efforts to renew 
the golden age of Roman oratory. 

But what had become of Evaristus? It was 
now five days since he had seen him, and as it 
was not late, he concluded to go to his house and 
inquire what had become of him ; but on arriving 
there, he found it closed and dark, and to his 


PALMS. 


26l 


repeated knocks there came no response what- 
ever. Remembering that this, was a reception 
night at the imperial palace, he turned his steps 
thither, assured of meeting among the guests 
some mutual friend who could give him the in- 
formation he desired. 

He was successful in his quest, but that which 
he heard took away his breath, and moved the 
very centres of his being. Evaristus had been 
seized with the Christian craze, and in a ringing 
speech had publicly denounced the gods, re- 
nounced paganism, and declared himself a be- 
liever in the Christus. He was at once arrested, 
taken before the prefect, where he repeated his 
blasphemies, and was cast into a subterranean 
dungeon to await his sentence. He went away, 
between his rough guards, smiling as if he were 
marching to a triumph. That is all Fabian 
could then learn, and wrapping his toga around 
him, he drew his hood over his head, and went 
away, speechless with grief and rage. “Fool! 
fool ! insensate fool ! ” he at last uttered, 1 ‘ to 
have so recklessly sacrificed a noble career!” 

He arose the next morning — the fever of his 
mind not allayed by a sleepless night — resolved 
to shake the dust of Rome from his feet, and get 
away for a day, at least, out of this atmosphere 
of cruelty; for Fabian was an amiable and, se- 
cretly, a liberal pagan, with an organization so 
sensitive that everything like violence was as a 
physical hurt to him. — a fact which did not de- 


262 


PALMS. 


teriorate the courageous qualities of his nature. 
If Evaristus was mad, he argued, it was a mad- 
ness that had a method in it, as the Christians 
daily exemplified, — a method like adamant, 
which could neither be bent nor broken; how, 
then, could he hope to influence him, especially 
since, conspicuous for his brillant talents, it 
would be the policy of his judges to make a sig- 
nal example of him? 

Fabian wrote, however, to the most noted law- 
yer in Rome to discover the whereabouts of his 
friend, and to spare neither money nor pains in 
the endeavor to effect his release ; then he break- 
fasted, and mounting his horse, put him to a 
brisk canter, which soon brought him to the 
Urban Way, where it trends up and along the 
Viminal, towards the rocky and wooded heights 
beyond. He meant to visit an old friend of his 
father’s, the Senator Lentulus, who passed a 
dreamy, secluded life in his ancient villa up 
there among the beauty and silence of the hills. 

His long ride had given time for the tumult 
of his mind to exhaust itself, in a measure; and 
now the shadows cast by the great trees over the 
winding road, and the unbroken quiet, refreshed 
and soothed him. 

In the meantime, as Nemesius, who had gone 
at an early hour to the camp of his veterans, to 
his daily inspection of their discipline and drill, 
determined that both should reach the highest 
point of military tactics before the war began, 


PALMS. 


263 

was riding leisurely down the Viminal, he saw 
Fabian approaching by a side road that joined 
the Urban Way, and also observed that his coun- 
tenance wore an unusually grave and preoccupied 
aspect. 

“ Fortune has favored me, Nemesius; for I 
was returning to the city to seek thee,” he said, 
after the usual salutations. “Had we not met, 
I must have gone home and impaled one of my 
slaves, by way of relieving my mind. ’ ’ 

“What new absurdity burdens it, Fabian?” 
asked Nemesius, with a grave smile. 

“No absurdity this time, but thoughts which, 
by the infernal gods! I must pour out into some 
friendly ear, or perish,” he replied, his usual 
genial smiles exchanged for an expression which 
Nemesius could not understand. “Do me a 
kindness, my Achates: turn back, and go with 
me to thy villa on the Aventine, where I may 
say all that I have it in my mind to say, without 
danger of crucifixion or something worse.” 

“Willingly; I am at leisure,” he answered, 
turning his horse’s head. “How far hast thou 
been to-day?” he asked, hoping to find a clue to 
his friend’s strange mood. 

“Only to visit that grand old Roman, Len- 
tulus, a well-preserved fossil of nobler and better 
times. He’s still harping on the old subject of 
the Greek conquest, and the evil effects which he 
insists it has produced on the Roman character. 
It is a strange coincidence that Ben Asa, the 


PALMS. 


264 

Jew, also imputes the first decadence of his 
people to their intermingling with and living 
among the Greeks. History is full of singular 
problems, which are only solved when it is too 
late for the mistakes of nations to be repaired. 
Eheu /” sighed Fabian. 

‘ ‘ I agree with the sage Lentulus. Greece has 
avenged herself by the enervating potions she 
has held to the lips of her conquerors,” answered 
Nemesius. “Except her learning and art, she 
has brought us no substantial good. But such 
topics have gone out of fashion; they # are left to 
old men who live in the historic Past, and be- 
lieve that the Present is going to destruction.” 

“When I left the venerable man I was so ele- 
vated, I assure thee, by the nobility of his senti- 
ments, that I felt as if I had been listening to the 
utterances of an oracle. The theme composed 
me, and raised my mind to a more exalted plane 
than the turbulent one on which it is our mis- 
fortune to exist; but, by Hercules! as I approached 
the Urban Way, my dreams were upset by such 
a howling and shouting, that I thought Erebus 
had broken loose. Quickening the speed of my 
horse, I soon reached the scene of tumult — that 
old house with a tower, which has a tradition of 
of having once served as a fortress, and is now 
the property of a rich man named Hippolytus. 
Thou must have noticed it in passing. ’ ’ 

“I know it,” said Nemesius. “It has not 
been long since my late duties led me to observe 


PALMS. 265 

it more closely than I desired. I inspected the 
horrible dungeons under it. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 Those dungeons served Hippolytus a good 
turn to-day. The tumult was caused by his 
slaves, who anticipated the ides of August, and 
prematurely began the Saturnalia. It was, in 
fact, a revolt. It did not last long. The keepers, 
well armed, and the task-masters with whips, 
assisted by laborers from a stone quarry near by, 
soon brought them to subjection, after some of 
them were killed and others wounded. They 
were then manacled, and thrown into the old 
dungeons under the tower. It was highly excit- 
ing, and brought me down with a jar from the 
heights to which Lentulus had sent me soaring, ’ y 
said Fabian, who, as Nemesius thought, still 
held in reserve a deeper cause of disturbance 
than the occurrence he had just related; but he 
only said : 

“Slaves require strong discipline; for, being 
human, the restraints of bondage must some- 
times become intolerable.” Then for a little 
while they rode along in silence. 

“Would my sweet little lady Claudia ever for- 
give me,” said Fabian, presently, “if she knew 
that I neglected to ask for her before everything 
else? How is she?” 

“Well, but rather timid and fearful,” an- 
swered Nemesius. “She is as one who has been 
suddenly deprived of sight, instead of having 
been blind from her birth. I left her very happy 


266 


PALMS. 


this morning, having told her that, instead of 
going away to the sea, we should spend the sum- 
mer on the Aventine, if she preferred it. The 
excess of her joy was so great that I could readily 
measure by it the pain it would have cost her to 
go elsewhere.” 

“I rejoice in the change of plan. I soon dis- 
covered that the one fixed upon filled her mind 
with vague dread; but up there, in the beautiful 
gardens, she will sip nepenthe, while the birds 
sing her welcome home. How soon wilt thou 
leave the city?” 

“Almost immediately. I intended to make 
no change — the weather being pleasant — until 
we started South; now the sooner we get back to 
the villa, the better for my child. ’ ’ 

“And the Princess?” questioned Fabian, with 
just the ghost of a twinkle in his eyes. 

“She will spend a week at the villa, then re- 
turn home, where she is sure everything is going 
to wreck and ruin for want of her presence. She 
has made me a promise, Fabian, of which I will 
tell thee presently, as it is connected with an af- 
fair with which I am about to tax thy friendship, ’ ’ 
answered Nemesius, as they began to ascend the 
Aventine. 

“I am thine unto death, my Achates! unless 
thou art conspiring with the Princess to throw 
the matrimonial noose about my neck.” said 
Fabian, laughing. “In all else, I repeat, I am 
thine unto death.” Words lightly spoken, but 
faithfully kept* as events will show. 


PALMS. 


267 

“Such friendship as thine, Fabian, takes much 
of its curse away from life. I believe and trust 
thee,” replied Nemesius. 

The old steward, who had observed their ap- 
proach, went out to receive them, welcome beam- 
ing on his countenance. 

“I fear, Symphronius, thou hast had a lonely 
time of it lately,” said Nemesius, greeting him 
kindly. 

“That is not to be wondered at, my noble sir; 
for we miss our sweet little lady more and more 
everyday. A double loss, truly; for when she is 
away, we see thee but seldom. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 She is nowhere as happy as here, and is pin- 
ing for home, for which reasons we shall return 
to the villa in a few days, to stay until the Octo- 
ber frosts have killed the flowers.” (Nemesius 
little dreamed, as he spoke, of the wonderful 
flowers that were to bloom for him and his child 
amidst the October frosts.) “Canst thou find us 
something to eat and drink?” he asked. 

“That is joyful news — the best I have heard 
for many a long day. The repast will soon be 
served, and the oldest flask of Csecuban wine in 
the vault set before thee,” said Symphronius, 
taking down his keys, over which a busy spider 
was spinning its web. 

During the prandial repast of cold meats, sal- 
ads, fruits, and snow-cooled wine, Fabian’s wit 
sparkled and flashed fitfully; one moment he was 
silent, the next exhilarated. Never had Neme- 


268 


PALMS. 


sius seen him in such a mood, and taking it in 
connection with certain things he had said on 
the Urban Way, he concluded that his gayety 
was forced; but seemed not to observe anything 
unusual, and when they had finished their repast, 
proposed adjourning to the gardens. 

Fabian swore that it was a happy inspiration, 
and they went out together, sauntering slowly 
through those scenes, whose lavish beauty was 
intensified by the fragrance of a thousand flow- 
ers, the flickering, golden shadows, the chime of 
fountains, and the songs of birds, until they 
reached the ilex grove, near the grotto of Silenus, 
where the knarled, moss-covered roots of the an- 
cient trees afforded resting-places of the most 
grotesque forms, where one could either sit or 
recline. At another time Fabian’s sensitive na- 
ture would have been in harmony with surround- 
ings so perfect, but the sudden shock of the even- 
ing before had struck a note of discord, which 
still jangled painfully out of tune, and clouded 
even his love for the beautiful. 

“Now, my Nemesius,” said Fabian, when 
the two friends had taken seats in the ilex grove, 
‘ 1 1 will unveil my sorrow. ’ ’ 

“Sorrow! Why hast thou kept it back until 
now, my friend? It is, indeed, difficult for me 
to realize sorrow and thee hand in hand. ’ ’ 

“It is true, nevertheless. Not all my vaunted 
stoicism has made me impervious. Thou hast 
heard me speak of Evaristus and his wonderful 
eloquence? ” 


PALMS. 269 

u Yes; not only that, but I myself have been 
entranced by it. What of him?” 

“Thou hast not heard, then?” 

“Since my return yesterday, every moment of 
my time has been so occupied, first with the Em- 
peror, then at the camp of my veterans, that no 
current news of any sort has reached me. I 
trust that no ill has befallen Evaristus.” 

“Thou may est judge : he has become a Chris- 
tian! Not satisfied to be one secretly, he was 
mad enough to declare his error openly from the 
rostrum, when the Forum had hardly standing 
room for the people who had come to hear his 
speech. Swept away by the torrent of his elo- 
quence — how well I can imagine it! — they at first 
failed to catch the significance of his words; and 
even when they did, so grand was his effort that 
their impulse was to applaud. But the fact that 
he had blasphemed the gods, denounced the cru- 
elty of Valerian, and declared himself a Chris- 
tian, was not to be ignored; and with sudden 
fury they rushed upon him where he stood smil- 
ing and fearless, dragged him from the rostrum 
to the prefect, who heard the accusation and his 
dauntless confession, after which he was beaten 
on the mouth with a heavy stone, and cast into 
one of the filthy underground dungeons, to await 
sentence. That is all I know. I loved the boy ; 
I was proud of his genius, and the glory his re- 
nown would have shed on the Roman name, ’ ’ 
said Fabian, while a slight tremor quivered 
around his sensitive lips. 


270 


PALMS. 


“Except that his mad act has brought pain to 
thee, Fabian, I should say he is rightly served. 
He knew the penalty of his offence, and his au- 
dacity in declaring it in the manner he did 
proves his willingness to accept the conse- 
quences,” said Nemesius, in grave, low tones. 

“By the furies! I say it’s a small thing to 
extinguish such a life for; and altogether out of 
proportion, if measured by the honors his bril- 
liant career would have brought the State, to say 
nothing of services which might some day save 
it. The loss is Rome’s, not his,” exclaimed Fa- 
bian. 

“Rome can afford to lose disloyal men,” said 
Nemesius. 

“ I deny that Evaristus is a disloyal man. No 
citizen of the Roman Empire had its glory, its 
power, its prosperity, more at heart than he,” 
replied Fabian, in tones of positive conviction. 

“How can one be loyal who defies the law and 
insults the gods?” 

“I deny that loyalty is a matter of sentiment: 
it is a principle that is proven by a man’s acts, 
not his beliefs. If he prefers to worship one god 
or none, instead of twelve or a thousand, I do 
not see how it affects his loyalty, his acts all 
being loyal. History gives us many examples of 
men, who were devout worshippers of the gods, 
overturning the Empire by their treasons; but, 
Nemesius, no treason has ever yet been proven 
against a Christian. It is beyond question of 


PALMS. 


271 


doubt that they have been brave in war, wise in 
council, just in administering the laws, and in- 
vulnerable to corruption, until some edict against 
their sect is published, or it is suddenly discov- 
ered by envious and covetous persons that they 
have all along been Christians — then all past ser- 
vices are forgotten; their lofty virtues, so often 
compared with Cato’s, are ignored; they are pro- 
nounced traitors, tortured and put to death like 
the vilest criminals — aye, far more cruelly — for 
— a belief ! ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I trust thou art hot infected with the insidi- 
ous poison of their belief,” said Nemesius, a 
dark glow rising to his face. 

“No,” replied Fabian, laughing; “I am a 
loyal Roman citizen according to thy own defi- 
nition, and worship only the gods — with a reser- 
vation, however.” 

“Even so, my Fabian, these are dangerous 
times to indulge in eccentric sentiments,” said 
Nemesius, with a sense of relief ;“ but explain — ” 

“My reservation? I may presently,” inter- 
rupted Fabian, “provided thou wilt patiently 
bear with me while I disburden my mind of its 
long-accumulated impressions. It is better that 
thy friendly ear should hear them than that I 
should explode them some time in public. Thou 
dost kindly assent? Well, then, the first ques- 
tion I would have solved is: To what end is this 
dreadful slaughter of the people known as Chris- 
tians? If it is to exterminate them, do not re- 


272 


PALMS. 


suits prove the attempt a failure? If the gods 
willed to avenge their insulted majesty an the 
Christians for refusing to worship them, being 
gods, could they not exterminate them by a sin- 
gle blow? That they do not do so proves, in my 
opinion, that the gods are not so jealous of their 
own supreme honor as mortals suppose, or that 
— which seems incredible — they are not omni- 
scient. Or it may be they know that all fallacies 
expend themselves, as flame expends the fuel on 
which it feeds, leaving only ashes; and with 
sublime indifference leave mankind to the folly 
of their own conceptions. These things may or 
may not be; we can only shape hypotheses where 
there’s a lack of dogma. Therefore, we will 
leave the gods, and descend to things we do 
know, and consider the war against the Chris- 
tians as a measure of state policy. 

“Yesterday,” continued Fabian, “Bvaristus 
was the idol of Rome. By some inscrutable 
agency he becomes a Christian: to-day he is 
chained in a noisome dungeon, into which no 
ray of light can penetrate, and will doubtless ex- 
piate his mistake by a cruel death, which he 
will bear with undaunted heroism, as they all 
do. We know how the Roman people deify 
heroism — how they adore that higher quality of 
courage which yields nothing except mortality 
to death, looking upon the sacrifice not as a de- 
feat, but a triumph. The brute courage of 
gladiators, which sometimes makes a spectacle 


PALMS. 


273 


for a Roman holiday, is quite a different thing; 
for their motive, like their courage, is ignoble: 
they risk their lives for a price; to kill or be 
killed, for a few ounces of gold, is their trade. 
The spectators bet on the chances of their strug- 
gle; money is lost and won on the bloody game; 
the savage instincts of the people are satisfied 
when it is over, and there it ends. 

‘ ‘ On the other hand, a despised Christian will 
suffer the most barbaric tortures with unshaken 
fortitude ; he will be cast to the lions, without a 
weapon to defend himself against their hungry 
rage; he will meet his fate with exalted heroism; 
he will even chant the exulting hymns of his 
faith while his flesh is being torn and his bones 
cracked by their cruel teeth, until he dies — not 
for gold, like the gladiator, my Nemesius, but 
for his belief. Nor does it end here, as in the 
other case when the spectacle is over; for in the 
minds of many who witness it the questions 
arise: ‘Why does this man die? What is this 
strange belief for which he suffers, — a belief 
that is of more value than life, and stronger 
than death? It must be something greater than 
we know of.’ 

“One such death — one Christian dead — and 
ten are converted by his example. For every 
ten converted by one, a hundred may be safely 
counted. From this induction, it is plain that 
computation by numbers is an impossibility; for 
so it has been going on since the days of Nero. 

• 9 * 


274 


PALMS. 


But it is a statistical as well as historic fact that 
this sect multiplies and increases its followers a 
thousand times more in times of persecution 
than in the few decades of peace that occasion- 
ally intervene. I look upon these persecutions 
— I call them such for want of a better name — 
as more destructive to the strength of the Em- 
pire than its wars, by the profuse waste of good 
human material, which might otherwise be used 
for its defence and the glory of its arms. Under 
certain emperors it has been so utilized, and none 
were found more loyal, and brave, and just, than 
the Christians in the performance of every duty 
assigned them, whether civic or military, until 
the hue and cry of a fresh persecution cut short 
their usefulness by their sudden destruction. I 
contend that there is no government so powerful 
that it can afford such wholesale destruction of 
its best sinews. ’ ’ 

‘‘They deny the gods, which is incompatible 
with true loyalty. The religious system of a 
State is the key-stone of its safety. The link 
that binds the two together must be indissolubly 
preserved,’ 7 said Nemesius, with lowering brow. 

“Consider, as I said before, my Nemesius, the 
power ascribed to the gods. Is it omnipotent ? 
Evidently they are indifferent to a sect so con- 
temptible that it has but one God, and according 
to report, the most senseless forms of worship; 
otherwise they would destroy it. ’ ’ 

There was in Fabian’s words an indefinable 


PALMS. 


275 


spirit of satire, felt more strongly than expressed, 
and he continued: “But it sometimes happens 
that a balance is struck, when the gods are deaf, 
and the one God of the Christians is not. A 
single instance, familiar to every school-boy in 
Rome, will illustrate my idea. It is of the 
Christian Legion, who, by their prayers, saved 
the army of Marcus Aurelius in Germany, when 
it was perishing for water, and all means of get- 
ting it were cut off by the enemy, to whom its 
utter defeat, unless by some remarkable inter- 
vention it should be relieved, presented no diffi- 
culties. I remember every word of the Emper- 
or’s letter to the Senate as it stands on the 
historic page; for it made a wonderful impression 
on my youthful mind; and, as it tells the story 
better than I could do, I will repeat it verbatim. 

“ ‘I put up my fervent prayers to the gods to 
send us relief,’ the Emperor wrote; ‘but the 
gods were deaf. I knew there were many 
Christians in the army, and, all other means 
failing, I called them around me, and com- 
manded them to address their God in our behalf. 
No sooner had they fallen on their knees to pray 
than a copious and refreshing rain fell from the 
heavens. But, while the rain was refreshing to 
us, it drove furiously against our enemies, like a 
tempest of hail, attended with vivid flashes of 
lightning and dreadful claps of thunder. ’ 

“That Marcus Aurelius was a devout wor- 
shipper of the gods none' will deny, but mark 


PALMS. 


276 

his concluding words: ‘Wherefore, since the 
prayers of this people are so powerful with their 
God, let us grant to the Christians full liberty of 
professing themselves such, lest they employ 
their prayers against us. My will is that their 
religion be no longer considered a crime against 
them. ’ 

“What higher instance of political sagacity on 
this vexed question can be shown than this 
charge of Marcus Aurelius to the Roman Sen- 
ate?” observed Fabian. 

“It strikes me that he was influenced by a 
superstitious dread rather than political wisdom; 
and, notwithstanding, if I remember, many 
Christians suffered under his reign,” replied Ne- 
mesius. 

“Whatever his motive, the wisdom was in 
the act. Yes: the fires of wrath were again 
kindled through the violence of his colleague in 
the Empire — Verus; and being the last of the 
five good emperors, his son Commodus renewed 
the bloody work, which has been going on, with 
little cessation, ever since,” Fabian answered, 
as he inhaled the fragrance of a handful of vio- 
lets he had plucked from an interstice in the root 
of the old tree against which he leaned, then 
tossed them away. 

“It has always been the policy of Rome not 
to interfere with the national religion of any of 
the peoples she conquers, but the Christians 
were merely a sect in Judea, where they origin- 


PALMS. 


2 77 


ated. There they were suspected, and not toler- 
ated; for then, and ever since, wherever they 
may be, they have practised their rites in secret, 
and have acted like conspirators united by a ter- 
rible oath to accomplish a distinct purpose. It 
is known that they predict the overthrow of the 
gods, threaten the Roman power with destruc- 
tion, and proclaim their allegiance to a king 
who, they claim, will bring the whole earth 
under his sceptre. They are wonder-workers: 
I have seen strange things myself; but it is well 
known that they are versed in the deepest mys- 
teries of magic, and practise their arts to delude 
the people,” said Nemesius, firmly convinced of 
the truth of all he said. 

‘ ‘ Those are some of the charges against 
them,” replied Fabian; “and there may be a 
shadow of truth in them. All creeds have a 
mysterious, esoteric language, by which they 
veil meanings that, from their point of view, are 
too sacred for the profane eye. But it has some- 
times occurred to me that the very fact of the 
Roman Empire, and its unity of government, 
will be a great factor in the diffusion of Christi- 
anity; for, as some one — who seems to have faith 
in his own convictions — asserts, it is not only a 
compulsory assemblage of polytheistic nations, 
but its construction is particularly favorable to 
the proselyting system of Christianity, in afford- 
ing it a vast and compact surface for its united 
operations against polytheism, which it is re- 


PALMS. 


278 

solved to supersede and destroy. This, I must 
confess, gives to the supposed designs of the new 
sect an importance out of all proporion to ex- 
isting facts. 

“However, my Nemesius,” Fabian went on, 
“ I speak only as an impartial observer. I have 
studied without adopting the opinions of the sys- 
tems taught by various philosophers of note, be- 
ing especially attracted by those who inculcated 
belief in a great First Cause, a Supreme God, 
such as Thales, Plato, and Socrates declared in 
sublime sentences. But a belief, to be perfect, 
must be consistent and coherent; and I should 
have been carried away by their grand concep- 
tions, had I not observed, in time, that they did 
not give a supreme worship to this Supreme 
Deity of whom they wrote such golden sen- 
tences, but still offered prayer and sacrifice to the 
gods. When I read the last grand utterances of 
Socrates, it was with bated breath; every faculty 
of my mind was elevated to his own divine 
heights, until, holding the poisoned cup to his 
lips, he said, as with his last breath: ‘Sacrifice 
for me a black cock to ^sculapius. ’ It was like 
a falling star — a bright trail of splendor across 
the heavens — then darkness! 

“After that I determined to disturb my mind 
no more with abstract questions, and adopted the 
principle taught by Pyrrho, that tranquillity of 
mind is the greatest happiness, and can only be 
attained by universal doubt and absolute indiffer- 


PALMS. 


279 


ence to all dogmas and opinions. In this spirit 
I have investigated, whenever and wherever an 
opportunity offered, both Judaism and Christian- 
ity, and many remarkable facts connected there- 
with in our own Roman traditions. But I would 
not weary thee, my Nemesius,” said Fabian, 
with one of his winning smiles; “with the old 
frankness of our boyish days, bid me hold my 
tongue if I tire thee. ’ ’ 

“ No, by F idius ! Thou hast led me into a laby- 
rinth, and must now lead me out. I have lived 
more in camps than among philosophers, and 
in the intervals have had no taste to follow the 
vagaries of speculative minds. I have accepted 
things as I found them, and worship the gods of 
my fathers in the belief that all who refuse them 
the same homage are enemies of the State. Say 
on, then, all that thou wilt, my Fabian; for it 
may be that another such hour as this will never 
be ours again. Let it be sacred to the friend- 
ship which is as ready to bear as to love, ’ ’ re- 
plied Nemesius, in tones whose sincerity none 
might doubt. 

“It is a labyrinth!” exclaimed Fabian, with 
a smile strangely unlike the genial one that usu- 
ally wreathed his lips — “a labyrinth in which I 
myself should be lost did I venture to penetrate 
too far into its mysterious involutions. But, 
while the pursuit has had its own peculiar in- 
terest, Pyrrho’s system has been the sedative 
that saved me from all agitation of mind, and 


28 o 


PALMS. 


insidious entanglements in the meshes of the so- 
phistical beliefs I have encountered. Sacred in- 
deed, my Nemesius, be this hour to friendship; 
but I will not accept the shadow thou wonldst 
cast over it by the suggestion of a possibility 
that it may be the last one of unrestrained con- 
fidence we shall ever spend together.” 

“It will be as the Fates decree,” replied Ne- 
mesius, gravely. “Now, tell me what came of 
thy eccentric quest?” 

‘ ‘ Thou knowest what a wanderer I have been, 
and that wherever I am, I have an irresistible 
impulse to acquire an insight into the history, 
laws, and customs of the strange peoples whose 
countries I visit, by which means I also gather 
many curious traditions. I have found human 
nature and history everywhere repeating them- 
selves, and no wiser to-day for the blunders and 
tragedies of yesterday. One fact, however, im- 
pressed me as of paramount importance, because 
of its dominating influence over all else; and 
that is, the religious aspect of the world, which 
is governed by two antagonistic systems — the 
first polytheistic, powerful, extensive, and sway- 
ing the greater part of mankind; the second a 
small minority, consisting of Jews and Chris- 
tians, who acknowledge and adore only one Su- 
preme God, whom they assert to be the Creator 
of all things. 

“This small antithetical element,” Fabian 
went on, “might be despised as a contemptible 


PALMS. 


28l 


foe, too weak to do mischief, were it not for cer- 
tain remarkable predictions of divine inspiration 
— in the truth of which they implicitly believe — 
of a great, mysterious Power that will one day 
arise among them, who will not only overthrow 
and destroy the ancient order of things, but 
bring the whole world under His dominion. I 
had always known in a vague way, from glean- 
ing among old volumes, that some such predic- 
tions have existed from the remotest times; but 
our modern conquests, which have brought us in 
nearer relations with the Jews, and the Christ- 
ians who are derived from them, have revived 
these dimly foreshadowed prophecies in a more 
definite manner; and I resolved to make an effort 
to ascertain if they were founded on superstitious 
illusions, or owed their origin to the secret 
theurgic schools in Egypt, or to a theosophy more 
exalted but dimly understood. I considered that 
the time devoted to the elucidation of a question 
of such grave import to the peace of the world 
and the higher interests of mankind, would be 
well spent, and my thirst for information be also 
gratified. I might fall short of my aspirations — 
I counted on that — but I knew I should gain 
much that was interesting by the way. 

“In pursuit of my object, I went to Judea, 
bearing a letter of introduction from a mutual 
friend to the Roman Governor at Jerusalem, 
which explained that I was in quest of informa- 
tion relating to the ancient history of the coun- 


282 


PALMS. 


try, which would be greatly facilitated by an 
acquaintance with some Hebrew of learning. I 
was most cordially received and treated with ele- 
gant hospitality by the Governor, who introduced 
me to an edile, a learned Jew, — one of the few 
who held office under the imperial authority. 
With a natural doubt of the purpose of my in- 
quiries, knowing me to be a Roman of rank, he 
was at first, although courteous, very reserved; 
but placed in my hands some historic scrolls 
written by one Flavius Josephus (a Jewish prince 
of the Asmonsean family), in which he said I 
would find matters of interest connected with my 
researches. 

“Later on, seemingly convinced that I had 
nothing sinister in view, the edile unbent, dis- 
closing, as through the open door of a shrine, 
the deathless glow of a sacred passion for his 
faith. He told me many wonderful things con- 
cerning the omnipotence of the Supreme God of 
his belief in behalf of His people Israel — as he 
expressed it — meaning the Jews. He related 
with dramatic eloquence how this Almighty One 
had scourged Egypt with frightful plagues for 
the deliverance of Israel from the oppressive 
tyranny of Menethus, fourth king of the nine- 
teenth dynasty,* who held them in a captivity 
as degrading as it was cruel ; and how at length, 
under the guidance of a divinely appointed 
leader — one Moses, an Egyptian Jew — He opened 


* The Pharaoh. 


PALMS. 


283 


a path through the Red Sea, by which they es- 
caped, dry shod, towards the land their God had 
promised them; while Menethus and his army 
of chariots and horsemen, in hot pursuit, dashed 
into the abyss, supposing it to be as safe for them 
as for the Israelites, expecting to overtake and 
reduce them to a worse captivity than the first; 
but no sooner were they in the midst, than the 
waters, which were uplifted like walls on either 
side, suddenly closed over and engulfed them in 
the deep, from which none escaped to tell the 
tale. 

“An account of these wonderful events,” con- 
tinued Fabian, “was found inscribed on tablets 
of stone among the historic archives of Egypt 
when that country fell under the dominion of 
Rome, and was brought away with the other 
spoils, and deposited in the Imperial Library of 
Augustus, where they are still preserved; and I 
digress from my story to speak of them, because 
they corroborate the Hebrew version of the af- 
fair, except that the Egyptian historian imputed 
it to sorcery, in the arts of which he declares 
their leader was well versed. I had read the 
Egyptian tablets, and ascribed the wonder to 
some unexplained natural phenomena, which is 
one thing; but to hear of it from one who looks 
upon all that happened as an interposition of di- 
vine power and wrath, is another, that leaves the 
question open to doubt. I must confess, how- 
ever, that the latter impressed, without convinc- 
ing me. 


284 


PALMS. 


“ It would consume too much time, my Neme- 
sius, if I should repeat all the remarkable things 
my Hebrew friend related to me concerning the 
founding of the kingdom of Judea — the glory of 
its theocracy, the wisdom of its judges, the 
splendor of the great Temple at Jerusalem, where 
their Supreme Deity held converse with the 
high-priests; of the warlike and undaunted char- 
acter of the people; and, overshadowing all, sup- 
porting, defending all, the Omnipotent Power 
that had led and established and preserved them 
by such signal manifestations of His protection, 
that the polytheistic nations, hearing the fame 
thereof, like our own Marcus Aurelius, dreaded 
His wrath, and raised altars to the ‘Unknown 
God ’ in their cities and temples. Ptolemy Phil- 
adelphus, of Egypt, sent a magnificent table of 
gold to enrich the Temple at Jerusalem; the 
kings of Asia offered costly treasures; and the 
Empress Eivia, in later times, sent superb vases 
of gold, in her name and that of Augustus, to 
beautify its holy places, and propitiate Him who 
dwelt within its Tabernacle. * 

“But, having waxed strong and mighty, the 
men of Judea wearied of their theocracy: they 
wanted a human sovereign, who would enlarge 
their kingdom and exalt their fame by new con- 
quests. Their God granted their desire, and in 
the king of their selection they found their 


Josephus. 


PALMS. 


2«5 


Nemesis; for from that time began their nat- 
ional misfortunes ending in defeats, captivity in 
Babylon, and their dispersion. Two or three 
intervals of prosperity under great kings, a period 
of warlike achievements under a great general, 
Judas Maccabeus, raised their hopes of yetmak- 
ing Judea the ruler of nations; but their deca- 
dence had begun, and their God, although He 
did not withdraw Himself from them, interposed 
no more miracles, but left them to their own 
devices, until — we all know the story — their con- 
quest, begun by Pompey, ended in their final 
subjection by Titus. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Our God has not abandoned us forever, ’ 
said my friend, after dwelling briefly on the 
calamities of his country; ‘but only for a time. 
He is the same yesterday, to-day, and forever, 
and His word never fails. From the beginning 
He has promised us One, whom, when the time 
of onr sorrow is accomplished, He will send 
for the redemption and glory of Israel. * He 
spoke in low, sad tones, his eyes half closed, and 
as if forgetful of my presence. 

“This was the touchstone I was in search of, 
and I quickly, perhaps abruptly, asked: 

‘ ‘ Are there no signs indicated by which the 
time of the coming of this Expected One may be 
known?’ 

“ ‘The time approaches as foretold, ’ he briefly 
answered. 

“ ‘Some say He has already appeared,’ I sug- 
gested. 


286 


PALMS. 


‘ ‘ But a leaden reserve closed his lips. I saw 
that he was deeply disturbed, and when he spoke 
again, it was to ask me some question quite 
foreign to the subject. After conversing a little 
while, I rose to take leave, and thanked him 
most cordially for the information he had im- 
parted in our several interviews. I did not see 
him again, although I went to his house, where 
I learned that he had been called away from 
Jerusalem on official business. Leaving Jerusa- 
lem, I journeyed up to Syria, spent a few days 
at Antioch, visited Daphne, that old Elysium of 
the senses and passions, where I sought the 
Oracle of Apollo, once so famous, but which, 
like all the other oracles, has been dumb these 
many years. 

“Leaving Antioch,” continued Fabian, “I 
travelled leisurely in advance of my retinue, in- 
tending to embark at Laodicea, and return to 
Rome via Cyprus and Brundusium. The soft 
Syrian air, full of the resinous odors of cedar and 
pine, the mountain roads bordered with wild 
roses and oleanders, interspersed with tall white 
lilies, imparted a delicious sensation of repose 
favorable to reflection, and my thoughts involun- 
tarily reverted to the theme which had taken 
such strong possession of my imagination. I 
then remembered that in my conversation with 
Laban, of Jerusalem, while he dwelt much and 
eloquently on the omnipotence of his God, and 
the glories of Israel, he had made no reference 


PALMS. 


287 

whatever to the One known as the ‘ Desired of 
Nations,’ until our final conference, as I have 
related, — a reserve I could not then understand. 

“However, I had heard rumors that the sacred 
books of the Hebrews contained many distinct 
predictions relating to One of royal lineage, who 
would be born of a Virgin for the regeneration 
and glory of mankind, over whom He would 
reign; and that even the time of His appearance 
had been computed by their seers from the re- 
motest days. But while this has been undoubt- 
edly their hope and their boast, which the dark- 
est fate can not extinguish, the potentates and 
powers of the world, remembering the wonderful 
manifestations of their Omnipotent God in their 
behalf, are troubled with a secret dread — a jeal- 
ous fear lest He should fulfil these predictions to 
their own destruction; for it is well known to 
them that not only the Hebrews, but all the 
polytheistic nations of the world, hold traditions 
which dimly foreshadow and symbolize the same 
personage. 

‘ ‘ Thibet and Sereca, ’ ’ * said Fabian, ‘ ‘ had a 
thousand prophetic traditions of a virgin-born, 
divine prince. Zerdhucht, f the great seer of the 
Magi, was born of a virgin, and was at first be- 
lieved to be the Expected One; but he was only 


* China, which first sent ambassadors to Rome in the reign 
of Tiberius Caesar, 
f Zoroaster. 


288 


PALMS. 


a prototype, a great teacher of divine maxims, 
and founded a sect which had for its fundamental 
rule a pure life. The Brahmins taught that when 
a god assumes human flesh, he is conceived by 
divine operation in the womb of a virgin. The 
Egyptian Isis was a virgin-mother. Nemroud, 
having learned by his astrologers that a Child 
unborn threatened his throne and his gods, 
caused all pregnant women to be put to death. 
The Isis of the Druids in Gaul — it was predicted 
by their oracles — would bring forth the future 
Saviour and Regenerator of the world, and they 
erected altars in their sacred groves to this Virgin 
Mother and her divine Son. The incarnation of 
a God in the womb of a virgin is one of the fun- 
damental doctrines of Asia. 

“There are many other instances, of which 
those I have named are a few; but as remarkable 
as any are the predictions of the Sibyls. Thou 
knowest that the office of keeper of ‘Secret His- 
toric Records’ has attached to my family ever 
since the time of the Caesars. My ancestor Tul- 
lius was one of the quindecemviri who had charge 
of the three Sibylline books, procured from an 
extraordinary woman by Tarquin the Proud; 
they were said to contain the fate of Rome, and 
were kept in a chest of gold under the pedestal 
of the Palatine Apollo. Whenever these vol- 
umes were removed or examined — for they had 
an eventful history — those charged with the task 
retained in their memory much of their singular 
contents, difficult to be understood. 


PALMS. 


289 

‘ ‘ One day, in looking over some ancient fam- 
ily records, which had been given over to ob- 
scurity and dust, I found copies in cipher of 
some of the Sibylline predictions, alike with all 
the rest, of a Virgin who would bear a Child of 
divine paternity, under whose sceptre all the 
nations would gather. I remember a few of these 
predictions, but the substance of them all agrees 
on this point. The oldest of the Sibyls — there 
were twelve — she of Chaldsea, named Sametha 
by the Hebrews, and said to be of the race of 
Noe — not only foretold all that would happen to 
Alexander of Macedon, but also predicted the 
coming of a Prince, born of a Virgin, who would 
restore the pristine glories of the Golden Age. 
The Cumaean Sibyl, in one of her inspired fren- 
zies, foretold the coming of the same mighty 
Being, who would erect His throne on earth, 
and bring all men under His subjection. The 
poet Virgil has woven the utterances of the Sibyls 
in lofty verse. 

“These mysterious women lived in ages and 
countries remote from each other, and yet their 
predictions of this divine Child, incarnate in 
human virginal flesh, all coincide — a coincid- 
ence worthy the consideration of philosophers 
and astrologers; and is a fact which, in my opin- 
ion, proves that all these traditions have a com- 
mon origin, and were retained by the scattered 
families of the earth when they founded their 
national existence. It is a curious study; but I 
10 


290 


PALMS. 


will not waste time in conjectures, which prove 
nothing. 

“The last we hear of these female seers, is of 
the Sibyl Tibnrtina, in the reign of Augustus 
Caesar, when a singular event occurred, which 
was authenticated by thousands of witnesses, 
and solemnly recorded. The Roman people, 
having determined to deify Augustus, went to 
seek advice of the Sibyl at her altar on the Cap- 
itoline Hill. After waiting there, fasting three 
days, the Emperor himself being present, her 
voice was heard, speaking in loud, distinct 
tones, many mysterious words of One to come — 
a Son of God; and suddenly the heavens opened, 
and Caesar beheld a beautiful Virgin, in whose 
arms reposed a lovely Infant. At this apparition 
he fell upon his face affrighted; at which instant 
a voice from heaven was heard saying, ‘This is 
the altar of the Son of God.’ ” * 

‘ ‘ A pretty illusion of an over-excited imagina- 
tion,” said Nemesius, with an incredulous smile. 

“It may be so,” replied Fabian; “but the 
illusion was shared by thousands of people, wait- 
ing there to hear what she might say about the 

*The history of the Twelve Sibyls was published in The 
Ave Maria in 1869, transcribed from an old black-letter 
book printed in England early in the 16th century, which — 
it was evident from a faded but distinctly- written inscription 
over the title-page — had belonged to the celebrated Hey- 
wood Library. It is known to be the only copy extant in 
this country. I had the use of it through the kindness of the 
gentleman to whom it belongs. 


PALMS. 


291 


deification; and the event is recorded as a fact. 
Shortly afterwards Augustus erected 011 the spot 
an altar to this wonderful Virgin and her divine 
Son. * And it was known about this time that 
certain Roman philosophers and augurs were 
troubled in mind, and whispered their belief 
that Nature was in travail to bring forth the di- 
vine Prince, whom they called the ‘Desired of 
the Nations.’ ” 

“I could laugh at thy pursuit of shadows, if 
thou wert not so deeply in earnest,” said Neme- 
sius, throwing away a small acorn that had 
dropped among the folds of his toga from a bough 
overhead. 

“ I do not admit that it is a shadow I am pur- 
suing,” replied Fabian. “Individually, it will 
not affect me, whatever may be the result of my 
investigation ; but when we ascertain that it has 
been the belief of the world from the remotest 
times, and gaining strength with time, that One 
is to appear who will overthrow all the kingdoms 
of the earth, and the gods with them, the ques- 
tion assumes a serious aspect, and naturally in- 
vites scrunity. Thou hast just tossed a small 

*The early Christians, after Constantine, built on the site 
of this heavenly vision the Church of the Ara Coeli, which, 
by late accounts from Rome, the modern despoilers of the 
patrimony of the Church have ordered to be pulled down, to 
make room for the tomb and body of Victor Emanuel, in 
whom, as shown by his acts while living, the spirit of the 
persecuting emperors, such as Valerian, was revived. — A. 
H. D. 


292 


PALMS. 


trifle away, yet it is the germ of a mighty tree, 
which will outlive centuries. Truth that is of 
divine inspiration is deathless, but difficult to 
find; and the search for it is not idle, even should 
the quest fail. But I will not quote Seneca’s 
maxims: I have enough to say without them. It 
is my nature to pursue to the end anything that 
engages my interest, whether it be shadow or 
substance ; and as I do not confine myself to gen- 
eralities, I learn much that is valuable concern- 
ing other things. ’ ’ 

“Thou wilt have to admit that, so far, the pre- 
dictions concerning this Expected One are unful- 
filled. I fear thou wilt have joined the immortals 
without realizing their truth or falsity, unless by 
some occult power thou canst penetrate the dim, 
distant future,” answered Nemesius. 

“Would it surprise thee to hear that He has 
already come?” asked Fabian. 

A strange shock thrilled Nemesius into silence. 
Was it a chill drift of air from the Tiber, or had 
a spirit passed? Fabian, all unconscious of the 
effect of his words, continued: 

“Such is the belief of many; but there is a con- 
flict of opinion, with so good a show of reason on 
either side — for and against — that time alone 
can decide the question. Thou wilt think I 
chase strange associates. I do, whenever they 
offer a promise of new ideas, or a confirmation 
of old ones. I have shown thee, my Nemesius, 
that my late quest originated in my studies 


PALMS. 


293 


of certain old historic records to which I 
had access, which found confirmation in the 
predictions of the Sibyls and the Hebrew tradi- 
tions, so far as I have been able to trace them; 
but an opportunity to investigate the latter most 
unexpectedly presented itself. 

‘ ‘ While I was absent in Syria our august Em- 
peror was seized with a sudden attack of bloody 
piety, the fever of which seemed to increase in- 
stead of abating. Thou knowest how my life 
was saved on my voyage from Cyprus by Ele- 
azer ben Asa, the Jew, and how I was shel- 
tered and nursed back to health in the family of 
one of his relations, who lived among the beau- 
tiful hills a few miles distant from Brundusium. 
It was in this sequestered spot, in daily inter- 
course with this singular man, that my gratitude 
for his most disinterested kindness ripened into 
friendship. I found him not so reticent as La- 
ban, of Jerusalem. He was an enthusiast of he- 
roic mind in all relating to his belief, and espe- 
cially in the promise of the Supreme God he 
adored — of the coming of that wonderful Prince 
so long expected by the world, who would lift 
up Israel from her fallen estate. He showed me 
the sacred, prophetical books of the Hebrews — 
those books which the great Alexander had sent 
ambassadors tq Judea to obtain translations of 
into Greek, by seventy Hebrew scholars who 
were masters of that tongue, to be preserved 
among his treasures. 


294 


PALMS. 


“Ben Asa pointed out and interpreted to me 
the most remarkable of the predictions concern- 
ing the royal warrior Messiah, who would restore 
with thousandfold splendor the departed glories 
of Israel, and extend its borders to the ends of 
the earth. It was not for me to contradict him, 
or interpose arguments against the only hope of 
a fallen nation. And why should I? # It was 
their business, not mine. There was, however, 
one prediction that did concern me as a Roman 
citizen; for it foretold not only the fall of Judea 
seven hundred years before its kingdom was 
founded, but also the destruction of the Roman 
Empire before it existed; both events to happen 
about the same period. 

‘ ‘ This prophecy was the emanation of a great 
astrologer from the Euphrates, who was bribed 
by the King of Moab to curse the Israelites;* 
but, forbidden to do so by a wonderful manifes- 
tation from their God, he refused to obey the 
royal mandate. It was on the heights of Pho- 
gor, in the midst of the sacrifices prepared for 
the malediction, that he not only predicted the 
fall of Moab, the rise of a Star out of Jacob, and 
a sceptre that should spring up from Israel to 
rule the nations, but also foretold that Rome 
would then be at the height of its greatest power; 
then it would overcome the Assyrians, and waste 
the Hebrews, then itself perish. As Rome has, 
to all intents and purposes, wasted Judea, and 


* Numbers, xxiv. 


PALMS. 


295 


blotted it out from among the nations, and is 
now at the height of its greatest power, have not 
the Jews good reason to believe — from their 
standpoint of faith — that the advent of their De- 
liverer is at hand? And as all the prophetic 
words uttered by the sorcerer from the Euphrates 
concerning the Roman conquests have been ver- 
ified, is there not reason why Rome should re- 
new her vigilance, lest the end he predicted be 
accomplished ? 

“One day, just before we parted, and in our 
last conversation on the subject, I asked Ben Asa 
if it might not be possible that the Christus was 
the Expected One? 

“‘By what sign?’ he asked; ‘what has he 
done for Israel, except to bring deeper calamities 
upon it ? Did he appear as a king — was his life 
that of a conqueror? Was he not a seditious 
man, and did he not die as a malefactor upon the 
cross? No! we utterly reject him. When the 
true Goel * appears, it will be in power and mag- 
nificence such as pass the imagination of man to 
conceive,’ he answered, proudly. 

‘ ‘ Some months later I went down by sea to 
Syracuse, to look at some treasures of gems and 
statuary recently unearthed, of which I had 
heard. I was directed to one Aquilla as the fac- 
tor of the business. He was a dealer in antiques, 
and a venerable man, of great learning and vir- 
tuous life, whose reputation for integrity in his 


* The Hebrew Saviour. 


PALMS. 


296 

dealings was never questioned. He was a Hel- 
lenic Jew, and, as I discovered later, a convert to 
Christianity — another opportunity provided for 
me by Destiny. I at once established friendly 
relations with him. There was no need to affect 
respect, for he had already won mine; and, as 
soon as reserve was banished, I questioned him 
as to the things imparted to me by Ben Asa. 
He confirmed all, reading the same predictions 
to me from a Greek translation of the sacred 
books of the Hebrews. There was no difference. 

“ ‘And thou art yet patiently waiting in ex- 
pectation of the coming of this Desired One? 
His advent is veiled in futurity: how canst thou 
be sure He will ever come ? ’ I asked. 

‘ ‘ ‘ Because the days are accomplished, and He 
has already come, ’ he answered, raising his eyes, 
which glowed with light, towards heaven. 

“ ‘ By what signs dost thou know it ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ By the fulfilment of all the prophecies, in 
very partiular, concerning Him. ’ 

“ ‘Is it He who is called the Christos?' 

“ ‘ It is He, indeed and in truth — Jesus Christ, 
bom of a Virgin Mother — the Son of the Diving 
God,’ he answered, bowing his head reverently. 

‘ ‘ He believed it. I felt no interest in it be- 
yond the desire to follow out a strange history to 
the end, but questioned him further. The Chris- 
tos, then, for whom the deluded people still 
give their lives, was born in the twenty-sixth 
year of the reign of Caesar Augustus, of a Virgin, 


PALMS. 


297 


at a place called Bethlehem, in Judea. Rome, 
having reached the meridian of power and mag- 
nificence, was then at peace with all the world, 
which verified another prediction that He should 
be called the Prince of Peace. 

“Wonderful events attended Plis birth, and 
His life was spent in teaching virtue, reproving 
vice, and working miracles. He called Himself 
the Son of God: the Jews called Him a blas- 
phemer. He announced Himself their King, 
and they called Him a seditious man, rejecting 
Him with scorn and hatred as an impostor, be- 
cause He did not come in great power and splen- 
dor to restore the temporal empire of Israel. 
They accused Him to Pilate, the Roman Procur- 
ator of Judea, and demanded His death by 
crucifixion, threatening, if he refused to pass 
sentence, to appeal to Caesar — for had He not 
publicly declared Himself King of the Jews, 
therefore an enemy to Caesar? This was skil- 
fully done, for although the Procurator — evi- 
dently a humane man — after examining the 
Christus , had declared to the high-priests and 
people that he found no just cause why He 
should be put to death, he was a Roman hold- 
ing authority under Caesar, and had need to be 
careful how he condoned any show of treason 
against him. He wavered, and at last consented 
with reluctance to pass sentence, after which the 
Jews, having insulted, scourged and crowned 
their victim with thorns, crucified Him. 


298 


PALMS. 


“But such wonders attended His death as 
were never before witnessed upon earth. Noth- 
ing of all that Dion Cassius and Pliny have 
written about the destruction of Pompeii and 
Herculaneum can compare with the horrors that 
attended the deicide. The sun was darkened — 
not by clouds, for some astrologers who were in 
Jerusalem, and observed the spectacle, declared 
that only its disc lost its effulgence. There were 
horrible sounds in the air; the earth was shaken 
to its centre ; rocks split in a way contrary to the 
laws of nature; the veil of the great Temple at 
Jerusalem was rent in twain; and — oh, horri- 
ble! — the dead arose from their graves, and 
showed themselves to the living, conversing 
with them for many days. It was as if the end 
of all things were at hand. 

“When the convulsions of nature ceased, the 
Chris tus was dead upon the cross, and they 
buried Him in a sepulchre in the rock, sealing 
the stone, and placing Roman guards to watch 
the tomb; for He had said that after three days 
He would rise again. Thou knowest the fidelity of 
Roman sentinels, and the penalties inflicted should 
seals with Caesar’s head upon them be broken 
when they are on guard. But, notwithstanding 
all the precautions named, the Christies arose, as 
He had said, on the third day, and after forty 
days ascended into heaven, in sight of many who 
were with Him. 

“All these things,” continued Fabian, “as I 


PALMS. 


299 


afterwards ascertained, are narrated in the records 
sent by the Procurator Pilate to the Senate of 
Rome — as is the custom when extraordinary 
events occur in the Roman provinces — and were 
placed among the Judean archives, in the reign 
of Tiberius Caesar. 

“I remember having asked Aquilla: ‘If the 
Jews rejected the Christus for not fulfilling their 
expectations of temporal sovereignty and con- 
quest, how can the Christians, who believe in 
the same Supreme God, and in the prophecies, 
accept Him ?’ 

‘ ‘ Because we know that He meant a spiritual 
kingdom, and not a temporal one, and that all 
nations would submit to the empire of the Cross. 
When He acknowledged to Pilate that He was 
a King, He said His kingdom was not of the 
earth. We accept Him as the promised Messiah 
— the very Son of God, the Saviour and Re- 
deemer of the world, who took upon Himself our 
human nature, that in His own person He might 
suffer all these things — a victim and propitiation 
for our salvation. And it is for the faith we 
have in Him, and the love we bear Him and His 
Virgin Mother, and the hope of eternal life that 
He purchased for us, that we lay down our lives 
rather than give up one jot or tittle of the faith 
that is in us. The oracles were silenced at His 
birth, and the false gods will continue to fall be- 
fore Him, until all mankind acknowledge Him 
as their Redeemer and their God. ’ 


3 °° 


PALMS. 


“These were the man’s words, Nemesius; and 
they gave me some insight into the exalted fervor 
and enthusiasm of the Christians ; for their belief, 
whatever may be its errors, inspires them with 
the most extraordinary heroism and fortitude 
when they are made to suffer for it — a thing now 
of daily occurrence. ’ ’ 

“I should call them fanatics; but hast thou 
followed thy clue to the end?” asked Nemesius. 

“No,” said Fabian; “the end lies in the 
futtire. Ben Asa clings to his rendition of the 
prophecies, through humiliation, degradation, 
and daily perils of death. Aquilla believes as 
firmly that all prophecy is fulfilled in the Chris - 
tus , and is ready to yield his life for his faith. 
Which of the two types is right ? If the Chris- 
tians are exterminated, then the Christus is a 
myth; but, by the gods! they thrive on the 
persecutions ; it is like threshing out seed for new 
harvests every time. And to crown my types 
comes Evaristus, the synthesis of the two. Eheu! 
I flattered myself that I was impervious to pain; 
but this blow found the vulnerable spot, and I 
confess myself wounded. And what will Evar- 
istus gain in exchange for all he has lost?” 

“Heaven!” was the answer; but whence? It 
was like an aerial echo, so clear and sweet that 
both men started, looked at each other, then 
around, but saw no living thing, except a young 
slave, some distance away, who was tying up 
the carnations near a statue of Flora. 


PALMS. 


3 03C 


u An illusion!” laughed Fabian. “It is not 
to be wondered at that one should now and then 
float in the air, when the earth is so full of them. 
It sounded like the voice of Evaristus ; may it be 
a good omen for him! Thou hast listened pa- 
tiently, my Achates, to my long, discursive talk, 
which has, in a way, cooled the fever of my 
mind, even though it had no special interest for 
thee : for which accept my thanks. ’ ’ 

“I have followed the thread, Fabian, and can 
but regard its coincident facts as remarkable; 
but that is all, except that I must compliment 
thee on thy faculty for investigation,” answered 
Nemesius. 

“Investigation which is without definite con- 
clusion. But how delicious the repose here has 
been! The soft, drifting clouds, touched with 
purple and gold, tell how long we have loitered. 
It is time to think of leaving, but never have I 
felt so reluctant. Let us delay our departure a 
few moments, Nemesius; for I have just be- 
thought myself of something curious. Hast thou 
ever heard of the martyrs of Tiberius Caesar, — 
not despised Christians, but 'noble Roman sena- 
tors, devout worshippers of the gods, whom he 
sacrificed to the Christas?" 

“Incredible!” exclaimed Nemesius; “an ab- 
surd slander!” 

“An historic fact, by Fidius! not more strange 
than true; but listen. The Christas was born in 
the reign of Augustus, and in the nineteenth 


302 


PALMS. 


year of that of Tiberius He was crucified. The 
memory of this Caesar is not a savory one, for all 
the vices centred in him. His excesses brought 
on a loathsome leprosy, for which no skill could 
afford relief; he was pronounced incurable. He 
heard, through the reports of the Roman offi- 
cials in Jerusalem, of a wonderful Man who had 
appeared, called the Chris tus — a Nazarene — who 
healed all manner of diseases, and even raised 
the dead to life. A desperate hope seized him. 
Why should not he also be cured? He could 
not go to Jerusalem, but the great Healer should 
be brought to him. He appointed three ambas- 
sadors, and, loading them with gifts for the 
Christus , directed them to bring Him with all 
honor to Rome; but when they arrived at Jeru- 
salem, they learned that He had been crucified. 
Knowing how enraged Tiberius would be by 
the disappointment, they procured from Pilate a 
verified copy of the official records relating to 
His arrest, trial, death, and many other things 
that had taken place. * 

‘ ‘ However, when his messengers returned, and 
related the unsuccessful result of their errand, 
presenting the records they had brought in con- 
firmation thereof, the Emperor’s fury was ungov- 
ernable. His first act was to order the arrest of 
the Procurator, Pontius Pilate ; his next was to 
summon the Senate to Rome. Wondering what 


*See Appendix. 


PALMS. 


303 


extraordinary event impended, the Senators came 
from their beautiful villas around Rome, from 
far and near, and convened on the appointed 
day. Tiberius, a gross mass of diseased flesh, 
whose disgusting appearance the imperial purple 
failed to conceal, arose from his curule chair be- 
fore the Senate, holding a scroll in his hand, 
which he proceeded to unroll and read to them. 
It was the document received from Pilate, con- 
taining an account of the Christus , and His cruel 
death, including much that was marvellous. 

“Having finished, and rolled up the scroll, 
the Emperor demanded that the wonderful Naz- 
arene should be deified by the Senate, and placed 
among the gods. Imagine the consternation of 
that august body at a proposal so preposterous! 
He left the subject to their deliberation, without 
a doubt of the result; for the Senate alone had 
the power of conferring divine honors on the 
dead. But they refused to comply, saying they 
would not recognize as a god a man whom some 
of the subjects of the Empire invoked as divine, 
without their consent. He was a divinity who 
would not hold fellowship with their gods. It 
was unbecoming the dignity of the Roman Sen- 
ate to recognize as a god a man who had been 
put to death as a malefactor in one of the prov- 
inces. The rage of Tiberius nearly cost him his 
life; and those Senators who had the courage to 
protest against his wish, were seized, and the 
next morning precipitated from the parapets of 


3°4 


PALMS. 


the Sublician Bridge, to find their graves in the 
muddy depths of the Tiber. * 

“Thus did the gods offer tribute to the Chris - 
tus. Now I have done, and am ready to go, 
after I gather a handful of Damascus roses and 
some carnations for Claudia,” said Fabian, will- 
ing to spare his friend the trouble of another 
word, being himself a little weary of the subject. 


*This is related with dramatic effect by the Rev. A. J. 
O’Reilly, D. D., in his “Victims of the Mamertine.” 


PALMS. 


3°5 


CHAPTER XIV. 

PAGAN GRIEF — ONCE MORE AT HOME — 

A SENSATION. 

Early next morning, just as Fabian was pre- 
paring to go to the villa for the purpose of ar- 
ranging a pretty device he had thought of for 
Claudia’s welcome home, a servant appeared, 
and announced that a person was waiting in the 
vestibule — who said his business was urgent — 
and requested to see him. Fabian had been ex- 
pecting ever since he awoke that morning, to 
get some intelligence from the agent whom he 
had commissioned to ascertain where Evaristus 
was incarcerated, and, if possible, to save him; 
he was not surprised, therefore, to see the law- 
yer himself, whom he received with grave cour- 
tesy, while his countenance expressed a ques- 
tioning anxiety, of which he was scarcely con- 
scious. 

After both were seated at a table of carved cit- 
rean wood, upon which lay scattered implements 
of writing, and unanswered letters, with one or 
two volumes of favorite authors, the lawyer, 
without any preliminaries, entered at once on 
the business which had brought him. He re- 
lated briefly that he had lost no time in entering 
io* 


PALMS. 


3°6 

upon a careful search for Evaristus. What made 
it so difficult, was the great number of persons 
that had been arrested at the same time, and a 
certain secrecy which had been thrown around 
his arrest, on account of the popular sentiment 
in his favor. The lawyer stated that he did not 
succeed in discovering to which of the prisons 
he had been conveyed until after midnight, when 
he at once directed his efforts, by application to 
the proper officials, to procure access to him. 
This involved a delay of several hours; and 
when at last, near day-dawn, the speaker found 
his way to the prison, and showed the order for 
his admission, he was informed that he was too 
late: Evaristus had been executed. The best 
thing they could do, after receiving a secret 
bribe, was to direct him to the place where the 
offender had paid the forfeit of his life. 

“Here,” added the lawyer, “I was not too 
late. It is true he was past recall, but I learned 
the particulars of his end. They first bound him 
on the wheel of torture, but before setting it in 
motion they tore out his tongue with red-hot 
pincers — ’ ’ 

“Enough!” interrupted Fabian, raising his 
hand from the table on which it rested, and drop- 
ping it again, while a sick faintness nearly sus- 
pended the action of his heart. 

“I secured his body,” began the other, “sup- 
posing—” 

“That is well. It is what I would have most 


PALMS. 


307 


desired, all else having failed, ’ ’ Fabian quickly 
responded. 

“What disposition shall we make of it?” 

1 ‘ Deposit it in my family tomb on the Appian 
Way,” said Fabian, opening a cabinet, and tak- 
ing therefrom a bronze key, which he gave him. 
“This will open it.” 

“Thy request shall be faithfully attended to; 
but shall the remains be incinerated? I can 
have it done secretly, if such be thy wish. ’ ’ 

“No,” said Fabian, remembering to have 
heard, among other things, that the Christians 
did not burn the bodies of their dead, and inurn 
their ashes for burial. “No: there is a new cof- 
fin of Assian stone there. I bought it when I 
was at Assos in Troas, two years ago, intending, 
it for my own interment. The stone has pecu- 
liar properties, from which one does not shrink 
as from the flame, although both consume.* 
Bvaristus was my friend, and to give him his 
last couch is all that is left for me to do. Spare 
no expense for fine linen, spices, or whatever 
may be needed. There may be danger in carry- 
ing out my wishes; should it be so, the fee shall 
be in proportion to it.” 

“Thy instructions shall be obeyed to the let- 
ter, ’ ’ answered the lawyer, fixing a look of keen 

*It has been said that the Assian stone, much used by the 
ancients for sepulture, had the property of consuming the 
body forty days after interment, whence it received the name 
of sarcophagus — flesh-eater. 


PALMS. 


3°8 

scrutiny on Fabian’s free as he turned a moment 
to lay his hand on the head of his favorite dog — 
a gigantic hound — who had quietly entered and 
taken his station beside his master, fixing his 
great eyes, full of latent fire, upon the stranger 
with a questioning, threatening expression. 

“I am satisfied, by what thou hast already 
done, that they will. Be quiet, Tito ! A gen- 
tleman’s dog should know his friend from a foe,” 
said Fabian, grasping the brute’s metal collar, 
as, growing restless, he crouched as for a spring. 

Then Fabian and his visitor separated, the lat- 
ter impressed with some strange ideas growing 
out of the interview. “Is it friendship only,” 
he asked himself, ‘ ‘ that induces this noble Ro- 
• man gentleman, a worshipper of the gods, to 
give honored burial, among his own ancestors, 
to a martyred Christian? Or has he some secret 
motive, deeper and more sacred? Has the truth 
of Christianity, and the example of Evaristus, 
opened his eyes and touched his heart?” The 
man could not tell; he had dared ask no ques- 
tions, for he was himself secretly a Christian — 
one of those who concealed their faith that they 
might better serve the suffering members of the 
persecuted Church — and lived in almost hourly 
expectation of being called upon to shed his 
blood in testimony of his faith. Was not this a 
living martyrdom of charity, as acceptable, if 
not so glorious, as the brief, sharp pangs of the 
rack, the fiery torture, and the fierce, sudden 


PALMS. 309 

agony, that as by a single blow changed the 
mortal struggle into an immortal triumph? 

Left alone, the smothered emotions of Fabian’s 
passionate Southern nature burst through all re- 
straints, and in tones of blended rage and grief 
he exclaimed, bitterly: 

1 1 And is this the only reward Rome could find 
for thee, my Evaristus — to drag out thy eloquent 
tongue and shatter the silver trumpet that 
sounded her fame! Gods! are ye gods, to look 
down indifferently upon a crime like this?” 

Grief was new to Fabian; he had flattered him- 
self that the philosophy he had adopted held 
him above the discordant passions of life; but 
found, to his shame, that, like snow-crusted vol- 
canic fires, they only waited the opportunity to 
burst into flames. He felt beaten by his own 
weakness, and thought a more lofty fortitude 
would have made his grief worthier of its object. 
He also realized for the first time how utterly 
futile and wasted is all conflict with the decrees 
of Fate. He had nothing that reached higher 
than Tiis head to look to for comfort or help; 
there was nothing in the theories and apothegms 
of the philosophies he had studied that could 
give strength or solace to the troubled mind, or 
tranquillity to the fevered brain; so, pagan that 
he was, he relied upon the resources of his own 
noble nature to live out his life as best he could, 
while he buried his sorrow deep in the sacred 
places of memory. 


3 10 


PALMS. 


Fabian plunged his head in a vessel of cold, 
perfumed water, and, throwing himself upon a 
couch, took up a volume, which proved to be 
his favorite “iEneid,” and sought to regain his 
usual tranquillity in its noble and poetic con- 
ceptions; then, when conscious that his com- 
posure was entirely restored, he wrapped his 
toga about him, descended to the street, where 
his chariot still awaited him, quickly mounted, 
and drove to the villa on the Aventine. 

About the same hour in which Fabian was 
passing through the ordeal just described, Neme- 
sius had left Rome to make his daily visit to the 
camp of his legion, and, without an object — only 
that it was a delicious day, and he wished to 
prolong his ride — he took the Urban road along 
the Viminal. As he approached the house of 
Hippolytus, he could but contrast its present 
quiet with the uproar and strife that yesterday 
reigned in its neighborhood. The sun shone 
brightly on its grim tower, and touched with 
emerald sheen the ivy creeping over its dark 
walls; birds careered above it, glad under the 
blue sky and golden light; and odors of mingled 
sweetness filled the air with subtle incense. 

There was a solitary old beggar, clothed in tat- 
ters, sitting on the lowest step of the portico, as 
if to rest and gain breath before resuming his 
journey. Nemesius thought he had never beheld 
so miserable an object; perhaps because he saw 
this one singly, without others around to divide 


PALMS. 


3 11 

his attention. The mendicant’s cheeks were 
hollow and pallid; his large black eyes, sunk far 
back in his head, were dim and wandering; 
while his hands were so palsied that the staff he 
clasped scarcely supported him. 

Suddenly, from a door under the portico, a 
young slave appeared, with a small loaf of bread 
and some scraps of meat, which he hastily thrust 
into the beggar’s hand, quickly covering them 
with his tattered cloak, whispered a few words, 
and was turning to go back into the house by the 
way he came out, when he was seized, pinioned, 
and dragged away by three men, who had fol- 
lowed him, and laid in wait to capture him as 
he returned. At the same moment two others 
laid violent hands on the beggar, who piteously 
pleaded for mercy. 

Nemesius drew rein, *and reminded the brutes 
that, the man being too old and feeble to offer re- 
sistance, such rough force was not necessary. 
•‘What is his offence?” he asked. 

“Oh! kind sir,” exclaimed the beggar, in 
quavering tones of weakness, “I have commit- 
ted no offence. I am starving and blind; and 
my son, who, like myself, is a slave of Hippoly- 
tus, brought me some scraps of food that would 
have been thrown to the dogs. I lived past my 
usefulness, and went blind, and then I was 
turned out to beg my bread. Oh! sir, pity me!” 

Blind! That had appealed direct to the heart 
of Nemesius, farther and deeper than all the 


312 


PALMS. 


rest, which had simply touched his naturally 
humane instincts; for he thought of his own 
sightless one, and quickly said: “Release him 
to me; I will charge myself with his support.” 

“We dare not. He is the slave of Hippolytus. 
His son stole the food he gave him, and both 
will be punished for the crime,” replied the 
leader, in rough, positive tones. 

Nemesius knew that a Roman master held the 
power of life or death over his slaves, and that 
no man had the right to come between them and 
his authority ; but beyond this — although owning 
several hundred slaves himself — he was not ac- 
quainted with the various methods by which 
their offences were usually punished, having de- 
puted their management to a factor, and given 
himself no trouble concerning them. 

“Will not his age and blindness procure some 
mitigation of his sentence?” he asked. “But 
where is Hippolytus? I will speak to himself: 
he knows me. ’ ’ 

“ He has gone to Rome; the Emperor sent for 
him this morning; and it would be of no use if 
he were here, he is so enraged at the outbreak of 
yesterday. This old rogue will be starved to 
death, or cast from the tower of the Esquiline,* 
whichever Hippolytus decides. He and his 
thief of a son can comfort each other in the dun- 
geons below. Come! get along, old wretch! 
We’ve wasted time enough already.” 


* One of the punishments inflicted on refractory slaves. 


PALMS. 


3 I 3 

But the miserable old creature was so paral- 
yzed by terror, hunger, and age combined, that 
on attempting to move he fell. The man seized 
him roughly, bore him down into the cavernous, 
gloomy dungeons, where the refractory slaves 
were manacled, and, throwing him upon the 
rugged floor of rock, they left him to die or re- 
cover, as Fate might decree. 

Nemesius touched the sides of his horse with 
the spur and galloped away, wondering where 
lay the fault of the times that could produce re- 
, suits like these. He had spent his life in camps, 
and in active military service in the foreign wars, 
and was ignorant of many things of civic polity, 
which excited his wonder when his observation 
was directed to them. He pitied the aged beg- 
gar, and would — for the love of his blind child 
— have given him refuge and support, but had 
been prevented by an arbitrary law. Then he 
remembered that, in the past, filial devotion had 
been more than once rewarded and immortalized 
by the Romans; that it was a virtue which 
ranked high in their ethics; and yet before his 
very eyes that day the virtue had been construed 
into a crime, to be followed by death instead of 
freedom and award. Truly, he thought, there 
must be more two-faced gods than Janus for such 
inconsistencies to rule, and the old sage Rentulus 
was right in declaring that the nobler qualities 
of the Roman character had fallen to decay. 

The house of Hippolytus seemed destined, all 


PALMS. 


3 I 4 

at once, to become the scene of extraordinary 
excitement; for towards noon another prisoner, 
guarded by soldiers, and attended by a jeering 
crowd, was conducted to its gloomy dungeons, 
— the same one Neinesius saw only yesterday, 
borne along by a furious mob, and consigned to 
the Mamertine — the Christian Deacon, Laurence ; 
his dark eyes radiant now as then with ineffable 
joy, his beautiful face tinted by the warm suns 
of his native Spain, neither pallid nor affrighted, 
but glowing with the divine light from within. 

It was to procure this transfer that Valerian 
had commanded the presence of Hippolytus, be- 
lieving that, if placed in his power, the latter 
could, by means fair as well as foul, wrest from 
Laurence the secret as to where the treasures of 
the Christian Church were concealed, it having 
been reported that he held charge of them. He 
was to be offered life, and freedom, and honors, 
if he complied, and made the slightest sign of 
homage to the gods; if not, death by untold tor- 
ments awaited him. Hippolytus, and the pre- 
fect who was instrumental in his arrest, were to 
share in the spoils, if success attended their ef- 
forts. 

Unresisting, the Christian Deacon was urged on 
with brutal force, down steep, dripping stair- 
ways, along dark, narrow corridors, until the 
iron-plated door of the lowest dungeon, where 
the refractory slaves were confined, was reached; 
the grim turnkey opened it, and he was thrust 


PALMS. 


315 


in among the furious, howling crowd, which in 
its impotent rage was ready to expend its vio- 
lence on any new object that presented itself. 

By the momentary glare of a torch as he en- 
tered — for, except a faint glimmer from a grating 
in the corridor outside, daylight was excluded — 
Lawrence saw a youth supporting on his breast 
and upholding in his strong arms an aged and 
apparently dying man. Suddenly the torch was 
extinguished; the great door clanged to; the 
heavy bolts were shot into their sockets; con- 
fused yells of despair and frightful imprecations 
arose within in a wild roar. But what cared sol- 
diers or guards ? It was all a thing of too com- 
mon occurrence to disturb them in the least; 
they had obeyed orders, and it was for those who 
had broken the laws to suffer, not for them, who 
‘‘meant to eat when hungry, rest when tired, 
and drink and be merry when their work was 
done. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Here let Thy servant reap some sheaves for 
Thee, O Christ!” was the prayer that ascended 
from the soul of the Deacon Laurence, as, moved 
with divine charity for the benighted creatures 
around him, he sank on his knees upon the flinty 
rocks to implore for them spiritual light, and 
mercy which they could not hope from man. 

It required faith as divinely strong as that of 
Laurence to ask in hope the conversion of those 
ignorant, degraded, and idolatrous ones, who 
were more like ravening wolves than human 


3 l6 


PALMS. 


beings; but God has set no restrictions on what 
His servants shall ask, and has given His eternal 
word that as one’s faith is, so shall it be done 
unto him ; and the faith of Laurence was greater 
than a grain of mustard-seed — an infinitely small 
measure, but of power sufficient to remove moun- 
tains. 

It was on this very day that the old Csesius 
palace was closed, the day fixed for the lovely 
blind daughter of Nemesius to go back to her 
beautiful home on the Aventine. At the moment 
the chariot, which bore the Princess Vi via, 
Claudia and her faithful Zilla, reached the great 
bronze gates of the avenue, the sun was low in 
the west, the sky suffused with delicate drifts of 
color; a transparent, luminous mist pervaded the 
air; and the summits of the long mountain range, 
stretching southward, were crested with a shim- 
mering line of gold. It seemed as if the heavens 
had garnered their loveliness wherewith to crown 
the dying day. 

Fabian, who had spent a busy day at the villa, 
was waiting at the entrance of the avenue to re- 
ceive them, with Grillo, around whose neck 
hung a huge garland of daisies and scarlet pop- 
pies, under which the silver bells of his collar 
jingled, and which he appreciatively tried to 
nibble at every opportunity. 

Saluting the Princess with that suave, deferen- 
tial manner in which he was so perfect, Fabian 
asked her permission to transfer Claudia from 


PALMS. 


317 


her side to Grillo’s back, to which she gave a 
kind, ready assent; whereupon he gently lifted 
her from the chariot, and placed her on the 
saddle. She was trembling with joy at being 
once more at home to stay; and to be met by 
Fabian, and actually seated on Grillo’s back, 
proved such a realization of her dreams, that it 
made her almost gasp for breath. But this was 
not all; for, as if to crown her happiness, Neme- 
sius now joined them, and, having cordially 
welcomed his guests, he dismounted to embrace 
and speak low, loving words to his darling, 
which were for no ear but her very own. Oh! 
the happiness of it — to be at home; to have 
around her the ones she loved best on earth; to 
feel the caressing touch of their hands, and 
hear their tender words! Then came the bitter 
thought, stinging her with sharp pain, that she 
could not see them for the darkness — the dread- 
ful, oppressive darkness! But, as a bird covers 
its wound with its wing, so she folded over hers 
the soft wing of silence, not wishing the pain of 
her grief to reach the hearts so dear to her own. 

“This is our Queen returned to her kingdom, 
my cousin the Princess,” said Fabian, with his 
irresistible smile, to the Princess Vivia; “and, 
if it please thee, she will take the lead to-day. ’ ’ 

“L,et us have no ceremony whatever, Fabian; 
it would mar all my enjoyment of the unrivalled 
loveliness spread out around me, and which I 
now see for the first time. No wonder the child’s 


PALMS. 


318 

heart grew homesick! And it is as beautiful as 
the rest to see her on that mouse of a donkey, 
the like of which I never beheld, ’ ’ answered the 
Princess, beaming with smiles. 

The little procession started, Claudia’s hand 
in her father’s as he walked beside Grillo, when 
Fabian, who was in advance, waved a branch of 
orange flowers over his head, at which signal a 
sudden shower of rose-leaves fluttered down upon 
them as if out of the sky; and at the same mo- 
ment a choral peasant-song of welcome floated 
out from the tree-tops, filling the air with wild, 
sweet melody, which alternated with the clear 
tenor of the choragus , that was so flute-like in 
tone as to be distinctly heard from end to end of 
the avenue. 

On every overreaching bough of the old chest- 
nuts was perched one or more of the young 
slaves of the villa, in whose Southern hearts the 
love of music was an inherent gift, and a passion 
for anything spectacular as natural as the breath 
they drew. Bach one was provided with a pan- 
nier of rose-leaves, and, having been drilled by 
Fabian, they performed their allotted parts with 
the most enthusiastic spontaneity. Wishing to 
make Claudia’s welcome home one that she 
could most enjoy, he had devised this, which she 
could both feel and hear 

“Oh, Fabian!” she exclaimed, as the fragrant 
snow of rose-leaves fell over her face and hands, 

‘ ‘ what is it fluttering down so lightly upon me ? 


PALMS. 319 

And those voices, and that one voice like a flute 
in the air ! ” 

“They are in the air, my pretty one — some 
strange birds that I snared, which not only sing, 
but scatter rose-leaves to welcome thee back,” 
he answered, laughing. 

“ Birds! Oh! Fabian, do birds sing verses?” 

“Mine do,” he replied; “and they shall sing 
for their little lady whenever she wishes.” 

“ Oh! my father! how sweet it is to be here!” 
she said to Nemesius, in soft, tremulous tones; 
then she laughed, and stretched out her hand to 
Fabian, which he bent over and kissed. “Thou 
art always so good to me, Fabian; and I love 
thee!” she added. 

“Listen, Fabian!” exclaimed Nemesius, as 
the sweet tenor of the choragus soared high up 
into the air like a lark; “ it sounds like the voice 
we heard in the ilex grove yesterday. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It does. I detect the same chord, the same 
tone. It is a rare voice. I heard him singing 
at his work the other day, and this little scena 
suggested itself. He is in some way related to 
Symphronius, as beautiful as a young Apollo; 
and his occupation is to keep the carnations in 
the gardens trained up and free from weeds.” 

“I knew they were not birds, Fabian!” 
laughed Claudia, who had listened with interest 
to the conversation. 

“I meant their voices,” he laughed back, 
never at a loss. 


320 


PALMS. 


It was indeed the same voice they had so mys- 
teriously heard in the garden. The boy was an 
orphaned great-nephew of Symphronius, and a 
Christian. His father, a pagan, had been a 
keeper in one of the prisons; but one day, on 
witnessing a certain martyrdom, he, suddenly 
enlightened by the grace of God; declared him- 
self a Christian, and suffered. His wife followed 
his example later, and, like him, exultingly 
yielded her life for the faith that was in her. 
The boy, their only child, had been baptized, 
and was a catechumen at the time of his mother’s 
martyrdom; and, being left entirely helpless and 
homeless, Symphronius had brought the lad to 
the villa, and got the gardener to set him to 
work. While tying up the carnations around 
the statue of Flora the day before, he was repeat- 
ing to himself a Christian hymn, which so filled 
his heart with joy and hope, that, forgetting 
himself, the single word “Heaven” escaped his 
lips, reaching the ears of Nemesius and Fabian, 
as if in answer to the words of the latter. No 
one at the villa knew that the lad Admetus was 
a Christian, still less did any one imagine the 
changes that were passing in the mind of old 
Symphronius. 

While we have been occupied by this little di- 
gression the showers of rose-leaves continued to 
descend, and the choral songs to fill the air, 
until the little blind daughter of the house and 
her adoring attendants reached the portico, 


PALMS. 


321 


where Symphronius received them with his 
grandest air, his manner tempered, however, by 
the delight that glistened in his eyes, and crin- 
kled his visage with smiles of welcome that 
would not be suppressed. 

“I welcome thee, my cousin Princess, to my 
dear home,” said Claudia, folding the hand of 
the Princess in both her own, and pressing her 
soft lips upon it. “I think thou wilt like it, the 
air is so sweet! And when I show thee all the 
beautiful places, and my doves, I hope thou wilt 
like it well enough to stay. ’ ’ 

1 1 1 am sure that I shall, my dearest. I like it 
now. It is celestial ! ’ ’ said the Princess, kissing 
her young cousin, who had never before ap- 
peared so lovely to her. 

Claudia was now within a few months of being 
ten years old : her birthday would come in Octo- 
ber. She was well grown for her age, slender in 
form, yet sufficiently well-rounded for a graceful 
outline; and now, as she stood in a slant of 
golden light, her pale blue robe falling in soft 
folds to her feet; her long, shining curls floating 
over her shoulders; her face irradiated with the 
happiness of her return, and her great pathetic, 
blind eyes looking blankly out, it is no wonder 
that the Princess Vi via gazed admiringly upon 
her, and thought how wonderfully beautiful she 
was. 

And so the old idyllic life at the villa on the 
Aventine was resumed, in all its material aspects 

IT 


322 


PALMS. 


the same, the only change being in the blind 
girl herself — a change which to a casual observer 
was not apparent, but which her father and Zilla 
noticed with silent but exquisite pain. This was 
her ever-present consciousness of being blind, 
which she involuntarily betrayed in many ways, 
now by a sudden shrinking back when in mo- 
tion, as from an impending blow, at another 
time impulsively stretching forth her hand, 
palm outward, as if to prevent contact with 
some impediment that would hurt her; and again 
in the timidity of her steps, which hampered the 
freedom of movement that had formerly given 
such attractive grace to her motions. 

This new phase of his child’s misfortune in- 
creased the poignancy of Nemesius’ grief, and 
filled his mind with sad misgivings of her future ; 
but he was impotent to remedy it — as impotent, 
he bitterly thought, as were the gods themselves, 
who had not made the least sign in answer to all 
the prayers and costly sacrifices that had been 
offered to propitiate their compassion and help. 

The next day, mounted on Grillo, and accom- 
panied by the Princess Vivia and Zilla, Claudia, 
in sweet content, wandered with them through 
the beautiful gardens, from one favorite spot to 
another; while the varied odors from spicy car- 
nations, orange blossoms, Damascus roses, and 
violets seemed to welcome her presence with 
their incense. Along the shaded alleys and ave- 
nues, where the golden sunlight drifted and 


PALMS. 


323 


flickered through tall, feathery pines, to the 
fountains, the grotto of Silenus, and the cascade, 
all steeped in the brightness of the Roman sky, 
they strolled and rested, and talked, until Sym- 
phronius appeared to announce that the prandial 
repast was spread al fresco in the ilex grove. 

The Princess, charmed by the lavishness of 
beauty outspread around her, was gracious, and 
as genial as comported with experiences as sad 
as hers had been; but the great city lying below 
somewhat awed her by its size and splendor — she 
had not dreamed of its extent — and the more 
distant view she had caught of the Alban hills, 
where her old gray villa nestled among its 
groves, reminded her so vividly of her vineyards, 
her peasants, her chickens and olives, that for a 
few moments she felt quite homesick, but not 
enough so to impair her appetite, or make her 
indifferent to the luxuries which invited it. 

While life at the villa that day was like a scrap 
out of the Golden Age, in the peace and beauty 
that filled it, the magnificent city below, stand- 
ing out in its superb proportions, its lofty con- 
ceptions in marble, its temples, statues, capitol, 
and the stately palaces crowning its seven hills, 
bathed in sunshine, and almost tempting the be- 
lief that the gods who presided over its destinies 
had built it, was agitated by rumors of strange 
things that had just taken place at the house of 
Hippolytus. The place seemed all at once to 
have become the scene of exciting and wonder- 


3 2 4 


PALMS. 


ful incidents, which formed the topic of conver- 
sation on the street, at the baths, the Forum, the 
theatre, and other public resorts; while like a 
strain of sweetest music it stole through the dark 
galleries of the Catacombs, making glad the 
hearts of the dwellers therein. In the great, sin- 
ful city above, men discussed what had happened 
with fury and dread ; in the city of God, far down 
in the depths of the earth, it swelled into a holy 
song of triumph. 

What, then, were the events that stirred Rome 
with a new sensation ? Stripped of the false and 
malign rumors with which pagan superstition 
invested them, the simple facts — in reality mirac- 
ulous manifestations of the Divine power — were 
as follows: 

On the day previous, when Laurence, the 
Christian deacon, was cast into the dungeons of 
Hippolytus, the first object, as before related, 
that, by the flare of a torch, met his eye, was the 
old blind beggar and his son, who had preceded 
him by a few hours into those abodes of gloom. 
The sight of misery that it seemed impossible to 
connect with guilt, appealed instantly to the di- 
vine charity which inflamed his heart, and moved 
him to offer help and consolation not only to 
them, but also to the unfortunate slaves, whose 
violence and curses added to the horrors of the 
place; for nothing less than their conversion 
would satisfy his zeal. 

His eyes presently grew accustomed to the dim 


PALMS. 


325 


light that, from a distant window in the corridor, 
stole faintly through a small iron grating high 
np in the wall, and made the inmates of the prison 
look like dark, grotesque shadows. Approaching 
the blind beggar and his son, who still supported 
him on his breast, Laurence knelt upon the un- 
even, rock-hewn floor beside them, and in com- 
passionate tones inquired the cause of their sor- 
row. Accents of human kindness were new to 
them, but now, when despairing of all help, and 
only certain of a horrible death, those low, thrill- 
ing tones of sympathy, those words expressive of 
pity, fell upon their ears like that strange music 
that sometimes visit the dreams of the wretched, 
their moans ceased, and they related the sad story 
with which we are already acquainted. 

Laurence had not wherewith to appease their 
hunger; he could not give them freedom or life: 
but in burning words he imparted to their be- 
nighted m inds the knowledge of Jesus Christ and 
all that' He had suffered for their salvation; and 
with such unction did he speak, that, enlight- 
ened by the mysterious operation of divine grace, 
they believed. 

The slaves, attracted by the strange voice that 
rang through the darkness above the tumult they 
were making — that uttered words such as they 
had never heard before — grew silent, then gath- 
ered as near as their chains permitted, to listen. 
At this moment the holy deacon, thirsting for 
their salvation, raised his eyes and arms towards 


PALMS. 


326 

heaven, and, with faith nothing doubting, asked 
God, in the holy name of His divine Son, to open 
the sightless eyes of the old beggar, that those 
present, beholding the miracle, might believe in 
Him. Swiftly sped the prayer, to be as swiftly 
answered. A cry of joy announced that the 
blind eyes were opened, and rising up, his 
strength renewed like an eagle, the old man 
gave his testimony for Christ. His son also de- 
clared himself a Christian, and together they re- 
joiced; their bonds, the sad fate that awaited 
them, and the miseries of the past, all swallowed 
up and forgotten in the light of the new faith, 
and the eternal hope that had risen upon them 
out of the darkness. 

Then Laurence addressed the slaves, who, hav- 
ing witnessed the miracle, stood grouped around, 
awed and silent, hearing for the first time of the 
true God, who had given His only-begotten Son 
to suffer unto death for their salvation, arid of the 
eternal reward that awaited those who believed 
in Him. His words fell like refreshing rains on 
a thirsty land, which straightway yielded a mi- 
raculous harvest; faith and hope sprang up to- 
gether in those hearts that had so long sat in 
darkness; they were Christians, who but an hour 
ago were worshippers of devils under the guise 
of gods — Christians, except that they were un- 
baptized. 

There was no water; their prison allowance was 
drank up hours ago, and they would have no 


PALMS. 


327 


more until the morrow. Suddenly a trickling, 
rippling sound was heard: a miraculous fountain 
had gushed from the flinty, rugged floor, settling 
in the uneven places in limpid pools, then losing 
itself in the darkness through some natural out- 
let. Filled with joy, and giving thanks, Laur- 
ence baptized his converts, twenty-three in num- 
ber, including the old beggar and his son; then, 
all unwearied, he continued to instruct them in 
the fundamental doctrines of Christianity, in 
language as simple as it was strong. 

At sunset, the servants who came to bring 
food to the prisoners, instead of confused sounds 
of fury and malediction from these gloomy 
depths, which had before made them afraid to 
enter, heard now only sounds of rejoicing. They 
descended cautiously, and by the light of a torch 
borne by one of their number they beheld peace- 
ful, smiling faces, instead of countenances dis- 
torted by rage and despair, and asked what had 
happened. The preaching of Laurence, the 
blind man’s sight restored, the miraculous 
spring, their conversion to Christianity, were all 
told with joy that could not be repressed. Some 
questioned the old beggar, whom they had long 
known blind; others gazed at the fountain flow- 
ing where water had never been before; while 
some ran to inform Hippolytus of the wonderful 
things that had taken place. 

Hippolytus, endowed by nature with many 
fine qualities, and by education a pagan, instead 


PALMS. 


328 

of falling into a blind rage at the report, has- 
tened with his family to investigate the remark- 
able events. The result was that the truth 
entered his soul; grace completed the triumph, 
and, throwing himself at the feet of Laurence, 
he asked to be made a Christian, and was bap- 
tized with all his family. * 

The morning after the events described had 
taken place, converting the dungeons of Hippo- 
lytus into the very gates of Heaven, Nemesius 
had gone early and been detained late at the 
camp of his legion, by some important details 
connected with the weapons of his soldiers, many 
of which he discovered were defective, and num- 
bers of them useless for actual service. This 
was, in his opinion, a matter sufficiently impor- 
tant to require his personal and immediate atten- 
tion, war being imminent at any hour, when it 
would be too late to remedy the evils of defective 
and inefficient arms, however brave the men 
who bore them. Determined that his command 
should not be found unprepared in the least par- 
ticular, instead of returning to the villa he rode 
out to the Nomen tian Gate, to see and give 
orders to a skilful artificer of military weapons, 
whose work-shops were in that quarter. 

Having satisfactorily transacted the business 
that had brought him there, Nemesius re- 
mounted his horse, and was proceeding home- 
ward, when a thunder-storm, which had been 


* Acts of St. Laurence. 


PALMS. 


329 


threatening all the sultry afternoon, burst over 
the city with unusual violence. It was dark, 
and he saw his way only by the vivid flashes of 
lightning that scored the blackness with veins 
of fire ; the wind howled, and rain, mingled with 
hail, poured in floods from the riven clouds, 
when a broad white flash revealed just before 
him the massive arches of the Aqua Virgo, under 
one of which he immediately took shelter. 

A few moments later, two men sought the 
same friendly refuge, and seated themselves on a 
block of travertine near where Nemesius stood 
leaning against his horse. Under these solid 
arches of stone the crashing sound of the thun- 
der was deadened, and heard only in dull rever- 
berations, and the two strangers began to con- 
verse with each other. One of them was a 
soldier, as the glint of the lightning on his armor 
revealed; the other a civilian, whose voice and 
speech indicated a person of education. They 
were talking of what had taken place the day 
before in the dungeons of Hippoly tus ; the soldier, 
who was on guard there at the time, being evi- 
dently well acquainted with the facts, while the 
tenor of their conversation declared them to be 
Christians. 

When he related how the blind beggar had 
been restored to sight by the prayers of Laurence, 
Nemesius listened with keenest interest. Had 
he not seen him, and all the circumstances of his 
arrest, on the previous day, heard his pitiable 


330 


PALMS. 


story, and himself pleaded for a mitigation of 
his punishment, before he was dragged away, 
and cast with his son into prison? Blind many 
years, and yet by the prayer of a Christian re- 
stored to sight! Then the other related how a 
child born blind had received sight, by the 
power of Jesus Christ, through the prayer of the 
holy Pope Stephen, and that the only son of the 
Senator M. Clodius had been raised from the 
dead by the same miraculous intervention. 
Tight flashed into the heart of Nemesius, and 
with it the thought: “He by whose power such 
wonders are wrought must be in truth the Son 
of God. If He will give sight to my child, then 
will I too believe. But where shall I find this 
holy man Stephen?” 

He was agitated by a thousand new emotions; 
the Spirit of God was moving over the darkened 
chaos of his soul, but he did not comprehend. 
That Hippolytus — knowing him so well as a de- 
vout worshipper of the gods, and not backward in 
persecuting the Christians when it fell in his way, 
— that Hippolytus and his family should have 
been suddenly converted, among his imprisoned, 
refractory slaves, to the new belief, by the influ- 
ence and prayers of Laurence the Deacon, filled 
his mind with inexpressible amazement; but the 
miracle by which the blind beggar was restored 
to sight was what reached the innermost recesses 
of his heart. And then to hear that the Pope, 
Stephen, had given sight to a child born blind, 


PALMS. 


33 1 


filled him with passionate longings, and made 
him willing to sacrifice earthly honors — riches, 
life, all, all — if he could obtain this coveted boon 
for his own Claudia. 

The storm was subsiding; already faint 
glimpses of white moonlight shone through the 
cloud-rifts, and the men arose to go, when Ne- 
mesius approaching them, said courteously : 

“The storm drove us accidentally to the same 
shelter. I have, without intending to do so, 
overheard what ye have spoken of, and I would 
know how I may get speech of the holy man 
Stephen, of whom ye have related wonderful 
things. ’ ’ 

They saw by the gleam of his armor and his 
military bearing that he was an officer of rank, 
and, knowing that a price was set on the Pope’s 
head, they answered, reservedly: “We can not 
inform thee.” 

“And yet the words I have just heard disclose 
the fact that ye are both Christians. ’ ’ 

“We are, by the grace of God, Christians,” 
they answered, firmly. 

4 4 Can it be that ye fear evil at my hands for 
Pope Stephen, that ye refuse the information I 
ask?” 

4 ‘Thou art a stranger to us, and we know 
there’s a price set for his destruction.” 

“Your mistrust is natural, but no evil shall 
reach him through me. I have heard the won- 
derful things ye have related of him, and I seek 


332 


PALMS. 


him as a suppliant, to obtain a small share of the 
favors he gives so freely to the poor and the un- 
fortunate — favors which gold can not buy, or I 
would have had my wish long ago,” answered 
Nemesius, with the quiet dignity of truth. 

The men hesitated, impressed by his manner 
and words, but felt it necessary to exercise 
caution. They whispered apart for a few min- 
utes, then said: 

* ‘ If thou wilt confide thy name to us, we may 
get a message conveyed from thee to our Holy 
Father, Pope Stephen, and find means by which 
his answer can reach thee. ’ ’ 

“I am Nemesius, commander of the Imperial 
Legion, whose word once given is known to be 
held as sacred as a vow, ’ ’ he answered, proudly. 

“That is what men say of thee. The Hol^ 
Father shall be informed of thy wish, and his 
answer shall be conveyed to thee without unnec- 
essary delay,” replied the one who had spoken. 

‘ ‘ The communication can be sent to my villa 
on the Aventine. I am usually there morning 
and evening,” said Nemesius. 

“There shall be no failure. May the grace of 
God enlighten and bless thee! Farewell!” 

“Farewell!” he responded, as they passed out 
of the shadow of the arch, their receding forms 
quickly lost sight of in a turn of the narrow 
street they had entered. “Aye! for the love of 
thee, my child, I will seek this Christian Pope, 
and at his feet, if need be, will implore him to 


palms. 333 

give thee sight. Thy innocence and thy misfor- 
tune will surely move him to pity. ’ ’ 

Full of the new hope that had dawned upon 
him, Nemesins rode slowly homeward, while, 
like a low undertone, as of the echo of the sea in 
a shell, the question kept sounding with impres- 
sive insistence in the depths of his soul: “By 
whose power are these wonders wrought?” 

He heard, but could not answer; he cared only 
for the accomplishment of his hope, let the power 
by which it was wrought be what it might. And 
when he reached home, and found Claudia wait- 
ing to welcome him, no pang shivered through 
his heart as he embraced her, and gazed into her 
blind eyes ; his voice had a ring of gladness, and 
his countenance wore such an unusual expression 
of cheerfulness, that Zilla, who could read all its 
changes, thought, ‘ ‘ He has heard good news, ’ ’ 
and thanked the gods for the happiness it diffused 
in their little circle that night. 

The drill and equipment of his legionaries 
continued to occupy the attention of Nemesins, 
who was too thorough a soldier to relegate to 
subordinates details on which the efficiency of 
his command in the field would largely depend; 
and he had no time to cast more than a fleeting 
thought on his adventure at the Aqua Virgo, 
and the conversation that had passed between 
the two strangers and himself. But when, the 
day’s duty over, he left the camp, and rode 
homeward through the quiet, beautiful subur- 


334 


PALMS. 


ban ways, it all recurred to him — their words, 
the vivid hope that had taken possession of his 
mind, their promise, followed by the sweet 
thought: “Perhaps their messenger awaits me, 
and the time is near at hand when my child will 
receive her sight, and with her own eyes behold 
the faces she loves, and the indescribable beau- 
ties of nature. He who performs such wonders 
as those men related must be above the gods.” 

His first words to the porter at the bronze 
gates, as he rode through, were to ask if one had 
come with a message for him. The man in- 
formed him that no one except a grand lady from 
Rome had been there that day. 

Nemesius felt a chill of disappointment, and 
passed on in silence towards the portico where 
Claudia waited, counting the hoof-beats of his 
horse on the grass-grown earth, and thinking 
that never had he come so slowly. Very tender 
and almost sad were his caresses and words when 
he reached her; he felt that she was defrauded 
by every hour’s delay, although she was all un- 
conscious of the hope which had so exalted him 
by its promise of fulfilment. 

By and by, when they were alone together, she 
related how happily the hours had sped that day; 
told him of the beautiful garlands they had 
woven for the household gods; and how Grillo 
had terrified her doves by making that dreadful 
sound which Fabian had pretended was meant 
for a laugh ; but it did not frighten her as it did 


PALMS. 


335 


the first time she heard it; she was only startled, 
then she laughed; for it seemed to do the beast 
so mijch good. And the shepherd had brought 
her a young lamb, — such a pretty, soft little 
thing, that had eaten out of her hand; and the 
golden pheasants had some downy young ones in 
their nests. And — oh! she forgot — the Lady 
Laodice had paid them a visit, and the Princess 
said she was very beautiful; “but — ” 

“What, my dear one?” 

“Tell me” — she spoke almost in a whisper — 
“what death means?” 

“Who has spoken to thee of death?” he asked, 
softly smoothing her hair. 

“No one spoke to me of death, my father. I 
heard the Lady Laodice telling my cousin, the 
Princbss, of a beautiful boy who was torn to 
death yesterday by a panther in the Amphi- 
theatre, to amuse the Emperor. What is death ?’ ’ 

“Death is a riddle, little one, that none may 
solve, although it is the twin sister of life. ’ ’ 

“ I do not understand. ’ ’ 

“Why shouldst thou care, my child? What 
hast thou, in the morning of thy life, and 
crowned with its roses, to do with death? Come, 
my dear one, let us go out and listen to the 
nightingales, who are pouring out all the treas- 
ured sweetness of the day to the stars. Listen! 
they are calling thee,” said Nemesius, leading 
her into the moonlit gardens, she well content 
to go whithersoever he would, and with sensi- 


PALMS. 


336 

tive tact avoiding further question of that which 
he seemed unwilling to explain. 

‘ ‘ I shall hear to-morrow, ’ ’ was the last thought 
that crossed the mind of Nemesius that night 
before he fell asleep. 

But the morrow came and went without a 
sign. “They fear that I will betray them, and 
so this hope, like the rest, will be defeated, ’ ’ was 
the conclusion of his dejected mind. 

He did not reach home the following evening 
until late; meantime Fabian had come out to 
spend the afternoon, and say good-bye. He was 
“going up among the Umbrian hills to hunt for 
a few days,” he said. It was not so much to 
hunt, however, as to try and rid himself, by ex- 
hilarating exercise in those wild solitudes, of his 
secret grief for Evaristus, whom he wished to 
enshrine in his memory like the statue of a god 
in a temple-niche — a form of sorrow more worthy 
of him than unavailing regrets. 

His visit was well-timed, for the Princess Vivia 
intended to leave next morning. She would 
have been glad to prolong her visit, but had a 
.presentiment that everything at the Alban villa 
was going to destruction, which nothing but her 
return could avert. 

Fabian not only wished to see Nemesius, to 
say farewell, but was anxious to recommend to 
his reading a certain correspondence between the 
Emperor Trajan and Pliny Secundus, when the 
latter was Governor of Bithynia, in relation to 


PALMS. 


337 


the punishment of the Christians of that coun- 
try, as offering a most favorable contrast to the 
violent measures of Valerian, and as an addendum 
to their recent conversation in the ilex grove. 
He devoted himself as usual to the entertainment 
of Claudia, and before he went away had the 
young peasant choristers brought together, led 
by Admetus, to serenade her. She called them 
“Fabian’s birds,” delighted their hearts by wav- 
ing her scarf and clapping her hands at every 
pause, and finally threw a handful of small sil- 
ver coins among them, which they scrambled 
for with fun and laughter, just as boys of the 
present time might do on a like occasion. 

“Come back, soon, Fabian,” said the sweet 
child, as he kissed her forehead. He promised 
gayly, said farewell to the Princess Vi via, and 
rode away in the white moonlight. 

It was past midnight when Nemesius arrived 
at the great bronze gates of the Villa. No mes- 
sage. Oh, how time was passing! This was the 
fourth day; surely those men had had time to 
fulfil their promise if they meant to keep faith 
with him, and every hour’s delay meant a day; 
for he knew that, should the war begin, at any 
moment he might be ordered to march away 
with his command to the actual scene of hostil- 
ities. 

The next morning, when about half-way down 
the road, where it winds above the Tiber, the 
attention of Nemesius was attracted to a slender 


ii 


33 § 


PALMS. 


youth, dark and beautiful, who stepped out from 
the shadow of the trees, and stood with a letter 
in his hand awaiting his approach. Halting, he 
glanced at the youth’s fa^e; then, taking the let- 
ter which he presented, proceeded to open and 
read it. It contained few words, but they were 
enough : 

‘ ‘ He whom thou wouldst see will receive thee. 
The bearer of this will conduct thee to-night. ’ ’ 

Nemesius raised his eyes and saw the messen- 
ger still waiting. “What is thy name?” he 
asked. 

“Admetus,” was the modest reply. 

“Who art thou?” 

“A Christian.” 

‘ ‘ I know thy voice — ah ! I remember, the chor- 
agus of the choral welcome. Who sent thee, 
and for what ? ’ ’ 

‘ 1 One who knows. I am to be thy guide. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Thou ! At what hour ? ’ ’ 

“When it grows dark. The moon rises late 
to-night. I will await thee here,” said Adme- 
tus, with manner both gentle and reverent. 

The courage of Nemesius was not of a sort to 
be restrained by suspicion, although his military 
training had taught him vigilance; he did not, 
therefore, waste time by further inquiry, but said 
simply, “I will remember,” and rode on, undis- 
turbed by doubts, and hopeful of results. 


PALMS. 


339 


CHAPTER XV. 

NEMESIUS MEETS POPE STEPHEN — VALERIAN’S 
DIABOLICAL INGENUITY, AND HOW HE 
WAS BAFFLED. 

At the appointed hour, Nemesius, clad in ar- 
mor, his sword at his belt, and a dark toga 
thrown around him, passed out of the bronze 
gates, and, walking rapidly, soon reached the 
spot where he expected to meet Admetus and 
found him waiting his arrival. 

“We have far to go,” whispered the boy. 

“Eead on,” was the quiet answer. 

So much mystery might naturally have awak- 
ened distrust, but, strange to say, Nemesius felt 
none, his mind being occupied solely with the 
object he had in view. Together they walked 
down the steep road, through many turns and 
windings of the city, past guards, whose chal- 
lenge the officer met by the countersign, until 
they were safely outside the walls, on the wide, 
shadowy Agro Romano, which looked vaster 
under the pale starlight. 

Nemesius and his guide had walked some dis- 
tance in an apparently aimless way, when the 
latter turned to the left, disturbing several flocks 
of sheep that were slumbering in the grass 


340 


PALMS. 


around the poor huts of their shepherds, and at 
last stopped before a small, dilapidated building 
so far gone to ruin as to be able to hold itself to- 
gether only by the aid of numerous props. A 
bunch of grape-vines hung ostentatiously over 
the doorway, indicating that wine could be here 
obtained by thirsty travellers. Three quick raps 
on the door were answered by a woman, who 
opened it cautiously, and peered out. The boy 
Admetus whispered a single word; she threw 
open the door, and invited them to enter the 
poor place, which was dimly illuminated by the 
flickering rays of a lamp suspended by an iron 
chain from a rafter. There were one or two 
shelves, which held a few amphorce , drinking- 
cups, and flagons; a rickety table, some rude 
seats, and a water-cask — all in keeping with the 
poverty-stricken exterior. 

“Follow me,” said the low, sweet voice of 
Admetus, as he led the way down a steep, dilap- 
idated staircase into a cellar, that gave out an 
odor of rotten wood and mouldy straw. 

Nemesius cast a quick glance around the vault, 
whose gloom was only intensified by the dull 
torch borne by his guide, and for the first time 
his instincts as a soldier suggested that it was 
just possible he was being led into a trap. But 
he did not hesitate; peril or no peril, he would 
risk everything to secure the object of his hope; 
and, following the light, he descended another 
steep, narrow stairway, cut in the rock of some 


PALMS. 


341 


older foundation than that on which the tumble- 
down wine-shop had been built. At the bottom 
his guide turned into a narrow passage, then en- 
tered another that ran across the one they were 
in; and, after proceeding a short distance, 
stopped, and, pushing aside some rubbish, picked 
up a stone and rapped sharply against what ap- 
peared to be a solid wall of travertine. Suddenly 
an aperture opened, caused by the turning of a 
block of stone, which revolved on a pivot fixed 
into it at the top and bottom. 

“Enter. I will await thee here,” said Adme- 
tus. 

Nemesius saw a long gallery stretching away 
into the darkness, and two soldiers with a light 
advancing towards him. They were unarmed, 
and gave him the military salute, saying “ Deo 
gratias .” He entered; the stone door closed, 
then they courteously but briefly told him that 
they were sent to conduct him to the presence of 
the holy Bishop Stephen. 

“Lead on,” was all he said; but what were 
his thoughts as, following his unknown guides, 
he beheld stretching away in interminable lines, 
as far as the torch cast its light, tier above tier 
of square blocks of stone, carved in devices un- 
known to him, which sealed the graves of the 
Christian martys? None might know, nor 
could he define the strange awe that sat upon his 
soul as he moved through these ranks of the holy 
dead. He knew now that he was in the Cata- 


34 * 


PALMS. 


combs; and, although his hand instinctively 
grasped the hilt of his sword, the faith and hope 
— devoid of superstition — which had brought 
him thither, to ask the intervention of a myste- 
rious and divine power, unknown to him, to give 
sight to his blind child, did not permit him to 
falter a moment in his purpose, or ask a single 
question of his companions. His step was firm 
and steady, his splendid eyes clear and un- 
troubled, his helmeted head erect, while the faint 
ring of his armor kept time as he moved. 

After many sinuous turns along these silent 
corridors, filled with the columbaria , where, like 
“doves in the clefts of the rocks, ” the martyred 
dead reposed, a sweet, solemn sound stole out on 
the silence, growing more distinct as they ad- 
vanced; and presently, through an arch near 
which they were passing, a soft halo of light was 
shed, and Nemesius heard the words chaunted: 

“O ye holy and just ones, rejoice in the Lord! 

God hath chosen ye unto Himself for an inheritance. 

Alleluia ! 

Precious in the sight of the Lord 
Is the death of His saints. Alleluia ! ” * 

The sweet, restful strains died away; only a 
faint echo sounded along the dim galleries of the 
dead, like the whispered response of angels, as 
the martyr was laid to rest. Nemesius did not 
then know the significance of the light he had 
seen and the words he had heard. 


Vespers for Martyrs. 


PALMS. 


343 


At length — it seemed as if miles had been trav- 
ersed — the soldiers stopped before an opening, 
across which a leather curtain was suspended. 
One of them passed behind the screen, and, 
quickly returning, invited Nemesius to enter. 
He did so, and found himself in a lamp-lighted 
apartment, its only occupant a man past middle- 
age, clothed in a white woollen robe, whose 
aspect was majestic but mild; whose counten- 
ance, shining with sweetness and compassion, 
was full of power; and whose eyes, penetrating 
yet kind, inspired him with emotions such as he 
had never before experienced in the presence of 
any human being. 

He knew that this was the Christian Pope, 
Stephen, and involuntarily knelt before him; 
while the holy man, impressed by his appear- 
ance, and the spontaneity of his homage, laid 
his hand upon his head and gave him a bene- 
diction; then invited him to be seated near the 
chair from which he had risen to greet him ; and, 
in tones that inspired confidence, asked the ob- 
ject of his visit, and expressed his readiness to 
serve him. 

“I thank thee for granting me audience. I 
am here as a suppliant, but I will not deceive 
thee. Know, then, that I worship the Genius 
of Rome and the gods, and that I have taken 
part in the persecution of Christians, ” said 
Nemesius, with dignity, his voice subdued, yet 
firm, as he made his frank avowal, not knowing 


344 


PALMS. 


but that it might bring defeat to his hopes; but, 
as an honorable gentleman and a brave soldier, 
he could not act otherwise. 

“ 1 have heard of thee,” was the mild answer; 
“but know that it is a fundamental law of the 
Christian life to forgive our enemies, and do 
good to them who despitefully use us; other- 
wise we are not true disciples of Jesus Christ. 
Speak, then, for it must be no light cause that 
leads thee to seek me in the Catacombs. ’ ’ 

“Thou shalt judge,” answered Nemesius, re- 
fusing by a gesture the seat offered him. “ It is 
for one most dear to me — my only child — for 
whom I solicit a share in those favors which I 
am credibly informed thou bestowest on the mis- 
erable and unfortunate. ’ ’ 

“ I but do the holy will of Him whose servant 
I am,” was the gentle response. 

Then Nemesius, in brief words, unveiled the 
story of his grief ; the most eloquent language 
could not have increased the pathos of its facts; 
tears rose unbidden to his eyes, and fell un- 
heeded; the very deeps of his strong heart were 
broken up, and he asked, as a boon more precious 
than any life could give, that sight might be 
given to his blind child. Nor — pagan as he was 
— did he spare lavish offers of treasures and 
countless gold to the Christian Pontiff; for had 
he not, from time to time, poured out his riches 
to the priests of his false gods for the same ob- 
ject? and he did not yet know the difference. 


PALMS. 


345 


“The gifts of God cannot be bought with sil- 
ver and gold; they are gratuitous, and of His 
divine mercy,” quickly responded the Pontiff, 
whose heart was moved with Christlike pity to- 
wards the noble pagan. He saw in his simple 
faith a glorious possibility, and a swift, divine 
inspiration dictated the words: “With our God 
all things are possible; take comfort, therefore, 
for thy desire will be granted. ’ ’ 

“Do I hear aright? Oh ! sir — ” 

Nemesius was overwhelmed by this calm as- 
surance that his long-delayed hope would be at 
last confirmed; he could scarcely believe, after 
all his bitter disappointments, that this was not 
some illusion of his over- wrought senses; his 
face paled, and for a few moments his thoughts 
were confused. 

‘ ‘ On the morrow the blind eyes of the inno- 
cent one will be opened, ’ ’ continued the Pontiff. 

‘ ‘ Bring her to me in the morning early — not 
here, but to the old, walled villa west of the sec- 
ond milestone on the Via Latina.” 

“ I would thank thee, could I find words ade- 
quate to express my gratitude; but language 
fails. I can only say that all I have — aye, my 
very life would I lay down, and still think the 
price too small for that which thou hast prom- 
ised,” said Nemesius, with profound emotion; 
then, with generous after- thought, quickly added: 
“but may I not bring my Claudia here? It may 
be unsafe for thee outside.” 


PALMS. 


346 

The holy Pontiff knew that the time had not 
yet come for his crowning, and replied: “There 
will be no danger. The villa belongs to an of- 
ficer of the Praetorian Guard, whose wife is a 
lady of the imperial household ; both of them are 
Christians, but not yet openly. Now we must 
part. May He whom I serve enlighten thee! 
Farewell!” And so saying he passed out be- 
yond the leather curtain that covered the door- 
way. 

The Pontiff had scarcely gone, when the two 
soldiers who had guided Nemesius hither came 
to conduct him back to the place where the youth 
Admetus awaited him. 

While traversing these dim, silent streets of 
the dead, he was too deeply absorbed in thought 
to observe them as at first, when but one idea 
dominated his faculties; for now, radiating from 
that, many others occupied his mind. He 
thought of the old, walled villa out near the 
Via Tatina, which had long been deserted as a 
permanent residence by its owners, who only 
came there occasionally in the summer, accom- 
panied by numerous friends, to enjoy open-air 
festivities in the beautiful grounds. Nemesius 
knew it well, having visited there with Fabian; 
but he found it difficult to think of the brave, 
dashing Tertullus, and his gay, pretty wife 
Camilla, as Christians. Truly did it appear to 
him that the nets of the Christus were spread 
far and near, snaring in their meshes not only 


PALMS. 


347 


the ignorant rabble, always ready to follow nov- 
elties, but those whom Rome could ill spare 
from her patrician ranks. 

Nemesius wondered if Tertullus and his wife 
were at the villa, and whether they were alone, 
or surrounded as usual by visitors? Their being 
alone would ensure greater safety for the Chris- 
tian Pontiff; in either case, his own way would 
be smoothed for the approaching interview, 
when, as if for the purpose of an early drive, ac- 
companied by Claudia, he sought admittance at 
the old iron-ribbed gates; a sunrise visit to the 
near country-place of a friend in warm weather 
being too usual an occurrence to attract attention. 

Not the least surprising incident of the night’s 
experience, he thought, was the confidence re- 
posed in him by the Pontiff, who had virtually 
placed his life in his hands, were he base enough 
to betray him; it appealed to Nemesius’ best 
instincts, and, without the least admixture of that 
shallow gratitude derived from the expectation 
of favors to come, but moved solely by the mag- 
nanimous chivalry of a true, noble heart, he 
vowed that should any danger, from whatever 
quarter it might come, assail the holy man in 
their approaching interview, he would defend 
him with his very life. 

How strange it was that he should, all at once, 
be mixed up in this secret way with individuals 
of that despised class which he, loyal to his own 
traditions and convictions, had persecuted, did 


PALMS. 


348 

not for a moment disturb him; love for his child 
had led him, as it would have led him into the 
fires of Tartarus, could he have hoped to find 
there some potent elixir that would open her 
blind eyes, — love which, although he did not 
then understand it, was as a pillar of cloud to his 
feet, and a voice to his darkened conscience, 
that was like the far-off echo of a cry in the 
wilderness to make straight the path of Him 
who was drawing near. 

Nemesius did not question the mysterious 
influences that were silently operating on his 
inner life: had he paused to do so, he would 
have ascribed them to the singular impressions 
he had received, and the profound joy he felt at 
the certain prospect that the long-hoped-for time 
— nay, almost the hour (for it was past mid- 
night) — was at hand when the eyes of his beau- 
tiful one would be opened. It did not enter into 
his mind to doubt it — he a worshipper of the 
gods! And, what is more singular, he believed 
with simple faith that the wonder would be 
wrought by the power of the God of the Chris- 
tians, and not by the exercise of Goetic and 
other occult sorceries, to which the heathen mind 
ascribed the miracles by which the divine power 
was manifested in those days. 

Broad and white lay the radiant moonlight, 
broken by black grotesque shadows, over the 
Agro Romano, when Nemesius and his youthful 
guide emerged from the dilapidated wine-shop, 


PALMS. 


349 


which concealed one of the many entrances to 
the Catacombs; soft winds from the sea, bearing 
sweetest odors from the numberless flowers over 
which they swept, filled the air with refresh- 
ment; here towered the mountains, draped in 
purple shadows; far away stretched the aque- 
ducts; and there superb Rome, her marble splen- 
dors flooded with silver, as she sat like a queen 
upon her seven hills, with the opulence of the 
world she had conquered at her feet; while 
silence, like a sacred balm, brooded over all. 

Nemesius did not pause to note the entrancing 
loveliness of the scene ; the cool, sweet air, after 
the close atmosphere of the Catacombs, refreshed 
him; but his mind was too full of his approach- 
ing happiness to be diverted by exterior objects, 
however attractive. Followed by Admetus, and 
never halting in his progress, the ground seemed 
to fly from under his feet, and he reached the 
great bronze gates of the villa without having 
realized the distance he had traversed. 

Here the Roman gentleman remembered his 
faithful guide, thanked him for his attendance, 
and told him that he wished to retain him in his 
service. There was no one to listen; the porter, 
who had taken one draught of wine too much, 
was in a profound sleep; and, not caring to 
rouse him, Nemesius entered by a narrow, pri- 
vate postern a little farther on, to which he 
alone had the key ; but when he turned to bid 
his guide follow him, he had disappeared. 


350 


PALMS. 


Hastening up the broad avenue, Nemesius 
reached the house; but, before passing in, he 
stood looking up with yearning heart to the win- 
dows of the room where his blind darling re- 
posed in peaceful slumbers, undreaming of the 
happiness so near at hand — but no! Could that 
white figure waiting there in the moonlight be 
hers? She detected the footsteps for which her 
ears had been on the alert, although he had 
walked lightly, fearing to disturb her; and her 
glad cry answered his thought. A minute later 
she was in his arms. 

‘ ‘ I was waiting, my father, just for this, and 
began to think thou wouldst never come, ’ ’ she 
murmured, in loving tones. 

“ But here I am, my little one! but only to kiss 
thee good-night, and bid thee go to thy couch 
and sleep; for we are to take an early drive to- 
gether. And, O my child! something awaits 
thee, full of happiness for both thee and me,” 
he said, the glad news hovering on his lips; but 
he refrained, fearing that the excitement would 
keep her awake, and he wanted her to be all 
fresh and rested when they started on the morn- 
ing’s quest; then he would tell her, on their way 
to the villa of Tertullus. 

After the interchange of a few more fond 
words, she laid her golden head upon her pillow, 
satisfied to know that he had come, that he had 
kissed her good-night; while the thought of the 
promised early drive with him was so entirely 


PALMS. 


351 


delightful that, like a pleasant song, it lulled 
her to sleep. 

When in the silence of his own apartment, 
Nemesius stood at his casement gazing out at 
the far distance, and wishing for the dawn, the 
sunrise, the beautiful day, which the eyes now 
sealed in darkness would behold for the first 
time, until strange, wonderful thoughts, that 
awed his mind by their mystery, began to move 
the depths of his soul, — vast incomprehensible 
thoughts of the God of the Christians, before 
which all finite questions shrunk defeated, but 
he discerned u as in a glass darkly” something 
of the Truth notwithstanding, and felt the touch 
of a power so divine and resistless, that he cried 
out! “Thou art unknown to me, O great Deity, 
but if Thou give sight to my blind child then 
will I know Thou art God, and Thee only will 
I adore and serve. ’ ’ 

His vow was registered in Heaven. It was no 
longer a pillar of cloud, but one of fire, that was 
leading him out of the darkness; “the voice of 
one crying in the wilderness ’ ’ was no longer an 
indistinct echo, and the way was being made 
straight for Him whose footsteps were already 
heard. 

Nemesius dismissed the two drowsy servants 
whom he found nodding in the anteroom, and 
passed into his sleeping apartment. But his im- 
patience for morning and all that it would bring 
banished even the thought of slumber, and he 
determined to keep vigil until it dawned. 


352 


PALMS. 


How slowly tlie moments seemed to drag, as 
he stood at the casement straining his eyes to- 
wards the dark, distant mountains, to catch the 
first pale glimmer that would illumine their sum- 
mits ! But what human heart-longing ever 
quickened the march of Time ? It was hard to 
wait, but how futile to stand idle when things 
were to be attended to which, if deferred later, 
would cause delay! 

He remembered that no orders had been sent 
to the stables, and, stealing noiselessly out, he 
reached them in a few minutes, roused the sleepy 
and astonished guardian of the stalls, and, in 
those firm, quiet tones of command that always 
ensured obedience, directed him to have the low 
two-seated chariot in readiness and at the door 
by sunrise. Then, refreshing himself with a 
thermal bath, he went back to his apartment, lit 
a lamp, and began preparations to apparel him- 
self as befitted the approaching momentous 
event. His child had never seen him, and he 
would appear well in her sight; he would don 
rich garments, and his superb armor of Damas- 
cus steel inlaid with arabesques of gold ; his 
jewel-hilted sword, made with such cunning art 
that it was as keen and flexible as lightning; 
and wear across his breast the splendid silken 
scarf of his military grade. He scanned his 
dark, noble face in a mirror, holding the lamp 
so that its rays shone full upon his countenance, 
and wondered if at first sight its strangeness 
would repel her. 


PALMS. 


353 


Never before, even in the days of his early 
love, had this man, self-poised and indifferent to 
externals, given so much thought to his appear- 
ance; for it was not alone the impression he 
would make on his little daughter, should she 
receive her sight — of which he had not the 
smallest doubt — that occupied his mind, but he 
wished to show due respect to that Power by 
which the wonder would be wrought, by appear- 
ing in all the insignia of his military rank, as 
before an Emperor. 

His preparations at length completed, a more 
noble figure could scarcely be imagined ; he looked 
the ideal of one of his own gods. He extinguished 
his lamp, and renewed his vigil at the casement, 
his gaze turned towards the mountains. At last! 
at last! a filmy, luminous whiteness faintly out- 
lined their grim crests ; the moon was bending 
low over the sea; tints of palest saffron veiled the 
morning-star, and the shadows began to be trans- 
figured with flashes of golcfcand veins of crimson 
as they drifted away. 

Nemesius went to the shrine that stood in a 
corner of the apartment, and, mixing wine and 
frankincense together in a gold cup, he offered 
the morning libation in honor of the gods. Hav- 
ing performed this act of heathen piety, he went 
out into the corridor, walked softly towards Clau- 
dia’s apartments, and met Zilla, who had just left 
them, her countenance wearing an anxious and 
perplexed expression ; which vanished in surprise 
12 


< 


354 


PALMS. 


at his appearance. Folding her hands on her 
bosom, she bowed her head, and waited for him 
to speak. He asked if the child was still asleep. 

“She is awake, and wishes to rise and be 
dressed for a drive which, she insists, she is to 
take with thee. She must have dreamed it, sir, 
as she was asleep before I sought my own couch 
last night. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It was no dream ; I saw her for a few moments 
after I came in; she was at the window listening 
for me. I promised the early drive. We start 
at sunrise, and shall pay a visit before we get 
back. Make her take a biscuit and a little wine 
before we go. And, Zilla! be ready with thy 
gladdest smiles to receive her when she returns; 
for, if I am not mistaken, she will bring thee 
cause for rejoicing,” he answered, scarcely able 
to hold back his secret. 

While Nemesius and his little daughter are 
speeding on their way towards the villa out on 
the Agro Romano, let ns, anticipating their ar- 
rival, take a glimpse of the ancient structure. 
Its thick, extensive walls, which are twelve feet 
high — the bricks showing dark and mouldy 
where the plaster has dropped off, or where there 
are spaces clear of wild, clambering vines — would 
give it the aspect of a prison, were it not for the 
great trees waving above; and the roses that toss 
blushing, wanton sprays over them; and the 
odorous wall-flowers and vetches that grow out 
of the crevices of the crumbling mortar. Evi- 


PALMS. 


355 


dently these ancient walls, with their deep- 
sunken iron-ribbed gates, were built for protec- 
tion in lawless times. 

The villa itself is a rambling structure, and 
originally had a tower at the north end, the 
upper portion of which had yielded to the tooth 
of Time, and tumbled in a mass of debris around 
it and upon its second floor, the stout timbers of 
which had withstood the shock, and still upheld 
the heap. Vines with pendulous scarlet flowers, 
ivy, wild vetches, and blue wistarias, are in pos- 
session, draping the ruin in colors and overlap- 
ping folds more gorgeous than the rich tapestries 
with which the Jews were compelled by the 
imperial edict to decorate the Arch of Titus on 
each anniversary of the destruction of their holy 
city. The grounds, interfered with by art only 
so far as to prevent their becoming a tangled 
wilderness; the grass, like violet-starred velvet; 
the old, mildewed statues looking out here and 
there from green, shadowy places, and the an- 
tique fountains, are all aglow in the golden 
splendor of the newly-risen sun. 

Tertullus and his wife are not here; two or 
three old slaves move about lazily; and several 
peacocks, trailing their superb plumes over the 
grass, are the only signs of life apparent. Sud- 
denly the sound of horses’ feet, and wheels, is 
heard outside; the porter springs to his post, 
draws back the bolts: thq great gates creak 
slowly open, and Nemesius drives through. 


PALMS. 


356 

Slaves are ready to stand by the horses’ heads as 
he draws up in front of the pillared entrance of 
the house; and he alights, his toga draped over 
his armor, and lifts Claudia out of the chariot. 

‘ ‘ I will conduct thee, ’ ’ said a low, sweet voice 
at his side; and, turning, he sees Admetus, the 
choragus of the Aventine! — his guide of the cat- 
acombs! Was the boy ubiquitous? He led the 
way into the vestibule, through the atrium into 
a wide corridor, which stretched through the 
villa, and ended in an apparently dead wall, 
panelled in wood that was black with age, where 
he stopped. One of the dark panels slid slowly 
upwards, and Nemesius, obeying the gesture of 
his guide, passed in, holding Claudia’s hand in 
the firm, tender clasp of his own. He had told 
her on the way thither that she was to live no 
longer in darkness — that her eyes were to be 
opened in a little while — and her face was radi- 
ant. No more darkness and groping and dread, 
but light! light! Oh! how she would love the 
power, the hand that gave sight to her blind eyes! 
She could think of nothing else; her heart was 
in a tumult of joy. 

A short walk through a narrow passage brought 
them to a door, which Admetus opened, and, 
having invited them to enter, left them, closing 
it after them. Looking around, Nemesius saw 
that he was in an oblong apartment, the windows 
of which were concealed on the outside by an 
interwoven mesh of vines. At one end, in the 


PALMS. 


357 


centre, there stood, upon a dais elevated three or 
four steps above the floor, a large, curiously 
shaped chest, with two massive iron rings at 
each end. Three panels formed the front. On 
the central one, inlaid in gold, was the mono- 
gram I. H. S. ; on the one to the left was delin- 
eated a pelican feeding her young with the blood 
from her wounded breast; on that to the right, a 
fish. On the top of the chest stood a narrow, 
arched cabinet, about two feet high, its doors 
plated with gold ; and a silver lamp, suspended 
from the ceiling by a fretwork chain of the same 
metal, burned with clear, steady light before it. 

On the top of the cabinet stood a crucifix of 
such realistic art, that Nemesius, as he gazed 
upon it, thought with a sudden thrill of what 
Fabian had told him of the death of the Christus , 
that day in the ilex grove. Frescoed on the 
wall above the crucifix was the saintly face of a 
woman, her eyes uplifted, her hands folded in an 
attitude of supplication, and there was a shadow 
of sadness and tears on the fair, virginal counte- 
nance. Could this mean the Virgin-Mother 
foretold by sibyls and prophets — the Virgin- 
Mother who brought forth Him hanging dead 
there upon the cross? Yes, the same — Advocata 
nostra , as she was known from the earliest days 
of Christianity. 

There were some rude benches in the apart- 
ment, a cross-crowned chair, and about midway 
a sliding screen, which, when drawn together, 


PALMS. 


358 

concealed the altar — for altar it was; a portable 
one, as the rings at each end signified; such as 
were in use in the early Christian churches, 
which were not edifices built separate and apart 
to themselves, but the private mansions of rich 
converts, consecrated to the worship of God, and 
permitted by some of the heathen tyrants to be 
so used when the fires of persecution were not 
abroad. 

The Church of St. Clement,* and tnat of St. 
Pudens, the friend of St. Peter and St. Paul, are 
still to be seen and venerated in Rome. And 
here in the villa of Tertullus was one of the few 
that had been left unmolested, because unsus- 
pected and undiscovered; for who among the 
heathen, be his zeal ever so argus-eyed, would 
suspect such an abomination to exist in the 
dwelling of an officer of the Prsetorian Guard ? 
Even had such a suspicion arisen, Valerian Im- 
perator would have thought twice before he 
ventured anything aggressive, knowing that the 
Prsetorian Guard sometimes, with a word and a 
blow, made, and unmade, such as he. Still less 
was it dreamed that under the ruined, ivy-draped 
tower, there was an opening through one of the 
old wine-vaults into the Catacombs. 

While Nemesius was observing the unfamiliar 
objects around him, a survey of which required 
far less time than it has taken to describe them, 

* Under the foundation of the present Church of St. 
Clement. 


PALMS. 


359 


a door opened, and the Christian Pontiff entered. 
He wore the same white woollen robe as on the 
night of their first interview, with the addition 
of a stole about his neck. Nemesius, who had 
thrown aside his toga, bared his head with 
reverent salutation, which was returned by a 
whispered “ Deo gratias!'" and the holy Sign 
of the Cross made by the Pontiff’s uplifted hand 
towards him. The anxious father then led 
Claudia forward. The lovely child was arrayed 
in soft white garments; her long, golden hair 
fell in shining curls over her shoulders; her fair 
face wore the innocence and purity of an angel’s; 
and as the saintly Pontiff gazed upon her, an 
expression of benign pity illuminated his coun- 
tenance, and, laying his hand upon her head, he 
blessed her. 

1 ‘ What wouldst thou have, sweet child ? ” he 
asked. 

“Oh! sir, I am blind, and would see,” was the 
pathetic answer. 

‘ ‘ I will give thee holy baptism, my child, and 
He who opens the eyes of the blind will enter 
thy heart, and teach thee to love and serve Him. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I will love Him ! ’ ’ she said ; then turning to 
Nemesius, who pressed her hand more closely, 
she continued: “Oh! my father, will we not both 
love Him who gives light to my eyes?” 

“And to thy spirit,” responded the Pontiff, 
who had among other supernatural gifts that of 
being able to discern spirits, and he saw by the 


PALMS. 


36° 

dispositions of the two before him, that they were 
already numbered with the conquests of Christ. 

He went to the altar, and, after kneeling in 
profound homage for a moment, opened the 
gold-plated door of the Tabernacle, and from one 
of its interior compartments — there were two — 
drew forth a crystal flask. Nemesius attentive to 
every movement, saw that it was filled with water; 
he knew not what baptism meant, but supposed 
it to be one of the conditions without which his 
child could not receive her sight; and he silently 
consented to the Christian rite, whatever it might 
signify, moved by something deeper than his 
natural desire for her blindness to be removed. 

The little girl stood silent, waiting; the sacred 
rite began; she felt a strange sign made upon her 
forehead ; and at the same moment beheld a beau- 
tiful One in shining raiment approach, whose 
presence was invisible to all except herself; and 
as the Pontiff poured the waters of regeneration 
upon her head, the Apparition touched her eyes, * 
and — she was no longer blind! She looked up, 
around, in glad surprise, and uttered a cry of 
gladness; the darkness had disappeared, and there 
was light. It was a moment to be more easily 
imagined than described. She gazed into the 
saintly face of the Pontiff Stephen, into her 
father’s, then flew to his embrace, crying: “At 
last I see thee!” 

****** 

The miracle opened the way — made straight 


* It is so related. 


PALMS. 


36l 

the path for grace to enter the mind of Neme- 
sius, who received the truth as it is in Jesus 
Christ, nothing doubting; and, kneeling at the 
feet of the Pontiff, he asked for instruction in the 
Christian faith, and then for Baptism, which, it 
may be stated here, he received a few days after, 
in the same place. 

The child saw the crucifix, and the sweet face 
of Advocata nostra ; she knew them not, but 
both were indelibly impressed upon her mind, 
and were not strangers to her when, a little later, 
she heard the wonderful story of Redemption. 
Glints of sunshine through the ivy that mantled 
the windows filled her with innocent delight, 
and the thought of all the beautiful things she 
was to behold so transported her heart, that she 
ran and knelt at the feet of the Pontiff, exclaim- 
ing, with sweet simplicity: 

“Oh! sir, wilt thou thank Him for me who 
has given me sight? But tell me His name, 
that I too may thank Him in my thoughts every 
moment of my life. ’ ’ 

U I will, my sweet child. Jesus Christ is the 
name of Him who by His divine power removed 
thy blindness; keep His name in thy heart, and 
thank Him and love Him without ceasing. Thou 
art now His little neophyte; by and by thou 
wilt know Him, and the Father who sent Him. 
He has given thee a new name in Baptism, by 
which He will know thee among His little ones 
— the name of Rucilla, * meaning light. ’ ’ 


*“ Little light.” 


362 


PALMS. 


The words of the holy Pontiff impressed 
themselves indelibly upon the little Claudia, es- 
pecially the Holy Name of Jesus, which became 
at once a glowing spark in the very centre of 
her innocent heart. It seemed, too, altogether 
fitting that with the new life so wonderfully 
opened upon, her she should have a new name, 
and that it should signify light — the light that 
had dispelled her darkness. 

Claudia wondered what had become of the 
One in shining raiment who had touched her 
eyes when the baptismal water was poured on 
her head, at the moment she received her sight; 
but she did not ask; she could comprehend noth- 
ing yet, except that she had been blind all her 
life and could now see, and that her heart was 
glowing with love towards Him whose name 
was enshrined therein. Raising her eyes, spark- 
ling with joy, she gazed on the Pontiff’s saintly 
face, and said, with simple trust: 

“Oh! sir, I would thank thee for opening my 
blind eyes if I knew how; but tell me who thou 
art, and thy name, that I may keep it in my heart 
with the Holy Name thou hast taught me.” 

“I am Stephen, a priest of the Hiving God, 
my child,” he replied, laying his hand on her 
head; “ and I now bless thee in the Name of the 
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. 
Go in peace; faith has been given thee: knowl- 
edge will presently follow, with the fulness of 
heavenly gifts. ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


363 

Obeying a swift impulse, she knelt at his feet, 
kissed his hand, and laid her cheek for an in- 
stant upon it; he raised her gently, and she 
stood, happy to wait, near him. 

u Thou wilt soon,” he said to Nemesius, as 
he touched his gleaming corselet, “put on the 
armor of Christ for the overthrow of idolatry, 
and the establishment of His kingdom upon 
earth.” The Pontiff spoke with emotion, for 
the winning of this noble soul to God filled him 
with unspeakable joy. “I would not delay thy 
Baptism. On the morrow, when the clepsydra 
shows the hour of noon, seek me here, and we 
will confer together before the rite. The wife 
of Tertullus will guide this little lamb into the 
green pastures of the one true Fold, of which 
Christ is the Shepherd. Now go in peace, giv- 
ing thanks to the Almighty Father of all, for 
the grace of faith. ’ ’ 

On their way home, the blue skies, the golden 
sunlight, the green, flowery stretches of the 
Campagna, over which cloud-shadows were skim- 
ming; the beautiful mountains, trees, flowers, 
butterflies, men and animals — all seen now for 
the first time — filled the child’s mind with won- 
der and inexpressible delight. 

‘ 1 Oh ! but for Him whose name is in my heart 
I had never seen all this or thee, my father!” she 
said, her voice tremulous with excess of happiness. 
“Oh! how I love Him! — but tell me, who is 
God?” 


364 


PALMS. 


‘ ‘ He is the Creator of all things — the heavens, 
the earth, and all who live; and beside Him 
there is none other. He is the one, holy, Su- 
preme Being, while the gods we have worshipped 
are false deities, who delude men to their de- 
struction. Henceforth, my child, we will adore 
and love and serve the one Supreme God, by 
whose power thy blindness has been removed, 
and the darkness of my understanding enlight- 
ened,” he answered with emotion, she listening, 
with her eyes fixed on the far-off sunlit spaces, 
believing, yet not comprehending what his 
words conveyed. 

When they reached the villa and Nemesius 
drew rein in front of the portico, Zilla was wait- 
ing under the trees to receive her blind charge, 
to lead her in, watchful of every step, and to 
perform for her all those services of affection 
which her faithful heart was ever ready to be- 
stow — to be eyes and hands for her at every turn, 
and anticipate every want. But when she saw 
her spring unaided from the chariot, and come 
running to meet her, the woman stopped as if 
spellbound; while the child, radiant with happi- 
ness, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks glowing, 
threw herself into her arms, exclaiming: 

u Oh! Zilla — my good mother! I can see! I 
can see! Let me look into thy dear face.” 

“See? Have the gods at last opened thy eyes, 
my child?” said Zilla, who grew instantly white, 
and was almost unable to speak, the suddenness 
of the news was so overwhelming. 


PALMS. 


365 

“The gods? No! Listen, my Zilla! There 
are no gods. Hast thou ever heard of Him called 
the Christus? He gave me my sight in an in- 
stant; my blindness is gone, and, oh! I can see! 
Is it not good news?” cried the child, her voice 
ringing with gladness. 

.But Zilla could not reply; she staggered from 
Claudia’s embrace, and stood as if turned to 
stone, her countenance wearing an expression of 
pain and horror. All that she had longed and 
prayed for had come at last; the blind eyes of 
the only being she loved in the world had sight 
given them — but how? Rather had she re- 
mained blind all her days than to have her sight 
on such conditions! To be a Christian — that 
was what it all meant! And now — now — when 
it was death to deny the gods! 

Zilla’ s first impulse was to go away, and be 
alone to look this terrible misfortune in the face; 
she tried to move, but her trembling limbs re- 
fused to bear her, and she would have fallen to 
the earth, had not one of the female slaves, who 
was passing at the moment on some domestic 
errand, sprang forward, and caught her in her 
strong arms. She was not unconscious, but 
dazed, prostrated, and bewildered, like one in a 
nightmare. 

Frightened, Claudia ran in, through the atrium 
— she did not know where — in search of some 
one who would get her wine for Zilla; and, in a 
well-lighted corridor, she almost ran against 


PALMS. 


366 

Syniphronius; startled, she stopped and gazed 
steadily in his face. It was an old, wrinkled face, 
with a fringe of white hair and beard around it; 
his great black eyes protruded, his nose was so 
large that it gave a grotesque character to his 
countenance, and his complexion was like parch- 
ment. He stood a moment aghast. 

‘ ‘ What has happened, and how is it that thou 
art running about all alone, my little lady ?’ ’ he 
gasped. 

“Now I know thee by thy voice,” she said, 
not yet recovered from her astonishment at so 
strange-looking an apparition: “thou art Sym- 
phronius, the steward. I am no longer blind, 
and I was looking for thee to get some wine for 
Zilla, who is ill. ’ ’ 

“Not blind? When — thou wert blind a few 
hours ago, my little lady!” he ejaculated. 

‘ ‘ I was, but now I see, ’ ’ she sweetly answered. 

The old steward felt as if the leathern pipe of 
one of the aqueducts had been suddenly turned 
down his back; for the news, although so joyful, 
gave him a shock that staggered him; and, not 
knowing what to say, he leaned against the wall, 
and made the Sign of the Cross. 

The child had seen the Pontiff Stephen make 
that sign when he pronounced the Holy Names; 
he had made it on her forehead, and again when 
he blessed her; and she was conscious it was the 
sign of Him whom her heart knew and loved. 

“ It was He who made me see — the Christus ,” 


PALMS. 367 

she said, sweetly. “Oh! it is good to find some 
one here who knows Him!” 

1 ‘ I am His unworthy servant, ’ ’ said the old 
man, with quavering voice; “but I cannot speak 
for joy; I can only lift up my heart, and give 
thanks to Him who has brought salvation to this 
house. Rest here, dear little lady, while I get 
wine for Zilla.” 

1 ‘ 1 will come with thee, ’ ’ she said, taking his 
trembling hand as he turned to go to the wine- 
closet; “and presently, when Zilla is better, 
other good tidings await thee. Give me the wine ; 
I will run back with it.” 

He gave her a flask of rich red wine and a 
crystal cup, then stood watching her in speech- 
less emotion as she ran swiftly down the corri- 
dor. ‘ ‘ Truly, truly, ” he at last whispered, 
bowing his head and crossing his hands rever- 
ently upon his breast, ‘ ‘ the Lord God is a mighty 
God, and merciful in His ways. ’ ’ 

When Claudia — as we will still call her — 
reached the atrium , she saw her father leading 
Zilla in, her face as white as a snowdrift, her 
eyes half closed, and her steps lagging and un- 
certain ; he led her to a couch, and gave her the 
wine; she felt the child’s soft lips upon her 
hands, her caressing arms about her neck, and 
heard the loving accents of her voice, which had 
always been as sweetest music to her ears. She 
opened her eyes and gazed for an instant into 
those so lately blind, now full of life and intelli- 


PALMS. 


368 

gence, shadowed by a half-wondering look of 
distress; then the woman whispered: “Leave 
me a little while, dear child, until I am better. ’ ’ 

“It is her voice — but can it be Zilla? I 
thought she would be glad — so glad when she 
heard I could see!” she mused, as, obedient to a 
look from her father, she left them, and wan- 
dered out under the trees, where, with wonder 
sweetened and brightened by faith, she gazed 
with delight on the beautiful things of nature. 

The sweet child felt, without formulating it, 
how good it was that sight and knowledge 
should have come together, and how much less 
complete one would have been without the other. 
The thought of Zilla troubled her; it was all so 
different from what she had expected; it was 
the first drop of bitterness in her brimful cup of 
happiness, and disturbed her, until she whis- 
pered the Holy Name that was enshrined in her 
heart — the Name which so uttered is an appeal 
for help, which brings swift response, in strength 
to bear if not to heal. Her Christian life was 
only a few hours old; the mysteries of divine 
grace were yet unknown to her; but, although 
given in measure proportionate to her littleness, 
in their effects they were the same in kind as to 
one further advanced in supernatural knowledge. 

When Zilla recovered somewhat, heathen-like, 
she was ashamed of her weakness, and by a 
strong effort of her will arose to leave the pres- 
ence of Nemesius; but he detained her by re- 


PALMS. 


369 

questing her to resume her seat; he wished her 
to learn from his own lips the wonderful things 
that had taken place that day, and to understand 
that he and the child were no longer worshippers 
of the gods, but Christians. 

The woman knew him too well to indulge the 
faintest hope of his faltering in the fatal course he 
had adopted, and his language was too lucid and 
coherent to afford a doubt of his sanity. She 
listened in silence, the iron entering deeper into 
her soul with every word he uttered, while the 
consequences of his apostasy gathered in frightful 
array before her. It was terrible; but Zilla was a 
woman whose maternal instincts had been fos- 
tered into unusual tenderness by the helplessness 
of the charge which, under peculiarly sad cir- 
cumstances, had devolved upon her, and she 
presently found how indestructible her love was, 
and how it would at last triumph over herself. 
And, now that he had told her all, Nemesius 
added: 

“It will be difficult, I fear, for thee to remain 
longer with us; for thou art still a worshipper 
of the daemons known as gods; for thy own hap- 
piness, then, it may be better for thee to return 
to Thessalia, before the storm breaks. Thou 
shalt be provided with ample means and a safe 
guide — nay, do not decide too hastily. Later, I 
may not have power to serve thee, for we both 
know that to become a Christian means death.’ ’ 

“I care not for death, but for her, my child, 
12* 


370 


PALMS. 


I would plunge this stiletto into my heart; and, 
happen what may, I will never leave her.” — She 
had snatched the gleaming, keen-edged thing 
from her hair, which fell in a dark, waving mass 
nearly to her feet. — “I know of no other way 
than the one I was born to — no other belief ; but, 
gods or no gods, I will never be faithless to the 
promise I made to the dying,” she said, in hard, 
bitter tones. 

“If such be thy choice, thy idolatrous belief 
must be kept in thine own heart, nor ever re- 
ferred to in her hearing. It would be better to 
part, unless thou wilt open thy mind to receive 
the Truth — which is the highest good I can wish 
for thee,” replied Nemesius, in his firm, even 
voice. 

“O Nemesius! thou who didst worship the 
gods, and with loyal mind didst punish their 
enemies with fire and sword! It seems too in- 
credible for belief that thou shouldst all at once 
abandon the religion of thy virtuous and pious 
ancestors for a delusion!” she exclaimed. 

“I have abandoned a delusion, by the grace 
of God, for the eternal Truth. My child’s blind 
eyes and the blind eyes of my spirit were opened 
at the same moment, by the grace and power of 
God; henceforth we are Christians!” answered 
the noble soldier. 

“But, alas! hast thou considered her?” she 
wailed; “thy delicate, lovely one, on whom no 
rough wind of fate has ever blown, who has been 


PAI^MS. 


371 


sheltered on my breast and in my arms from 
every ill my watchful care could avert! Ah, 
pity her! Is her tender flesh fit for the rack or 
the teeth of panthers? Ah, gods! what mad- 
ness! And art thou ready to give up fortune, 
fame, life?” 

“All — everything!” was his firm, low- voiced 
reply, as he turned away and walked out of the 
atrium , his nature stung in the tenderest spot, 
but his resolve and faith unshaken. 

The woman felt as if the crowning woe of her 
life had come. She would as soon have ex- 
pected the sky to fall, as for that to happen 
which had happened this day. With her head 
bowed down, her face covered with her hands, 
her hair fallen like a sombre veil around her, 
she sat there benumbed, without the power or 
wish to move, until soft arms stole around her, 
and the voice most dear to her said, in tones of 
tender entreaty: 

“Wilt thou not raise up thy head, Zilla, and 
let me look into thy face? Hast thou forgotten 
that I can now see thee, and does it not make 
thee glad?” 

Zilla’ s hands fell; she raised her wan face, and 
tried to smile into the bright, beautiful eyes that 
scrutinized her countenance, and beheld in its 
grief-stricken lines, its stern white aspect, a first 
glimpse of human sorrow; frightened, the child 
drew back, saying: “Speak, that I may know 
if thou art Zilla!” 


372 


PALMS. 


Claudia’s movement and her sweet words 
pierced Zilla’s heart; her old passionate love for 
the child asserted itself, strengthened and inten- 
sified by a sense of the deadly perils which would 
henceforth lurk every instant about her; and 
roused with it an impulse, as fierce as that of a 
lioness when danger threatens her young, to save 
her from the evil consequences of the insane de- 
lusion under which, by the arts of the Christians, 
she and her father had fallen. 

Fondly the old nurse looked into the question- 
ing, saddened face; the rigor of her grief softened; 
tender, familiar words fell from her lips; and when 
she saw how brightly her darling’s eyes beamed 
upon her, illuminating the child’s lovely face 
with an inexpressible charm, an emotion of joy 
usurped the tumult of Zilla’s grief, and, drawing 
the golden head to her bosom, she laid her cheek 
upon it in the old, caressing way, holding her 
close to her throbbing heart, as if to shield her 
from the vengeance of fate. 

“Now, now do I know it is thou, my own 
good mother!” exclaimed the happy child, re- 
leasing herself, but still holding Zilla’s hand. 

‘ ‘ Let us go to the gardens — to the old, beautiful 
places, which I have not yet seen, where I will 
tell thee of Him who has given me sight, and 
whose name is in my heart; for thou lovest me, 
and wilt also love Him for being so good to me ; 
wilt thou not ?’ ’ 

Zilla yielded to the sweet constraint of her 


PALMS. 


373 


hand, without speaking; for what could she 
answer to an appeal so confiding? But Claudia 
did not notice; her innocent heart was in such a 
divine glow with the new joy which had that 
day entered it, and her eyes were so ravished by 
the beauties of nature, over which it seemed to 
shed a light ‘ ‘ not seen of men, ’ ’ that there was 
no place left for shadows or anxious thought. 

As they crossed the beautiful, level spaces that 
lay between the villa and the gardens, — spaces 
checkered by a thousand flickering golden shad- 
ows, — Claudia caught sight of her father going 
in the direction of the stables, and, asking Zilla to 
wait a moment, she ran towards him ; he saw her 
coming and stopped, watching her approach, his 
heart full of an indescribable emotion. Oh! how 
brightly shone the eyes but a few hours ago blind! 
What a depth of love beamed from them as they 
met his! He leaned down and kissed her head. 

“O, my father!” she said, “hast thou seen 
Symphronius? No? Go, then, and make glad 
his heart by telling him all that is in thine; for 
he too knows and loves Him who opened my 
blind eyes.” 

“My old Symphronius too!” exclaimed Ne- 
mesius, while tears filled his eyes. “I will go at 
once;” and turning, he went back, while the 
child tripped away to her nurse, catching at the 
butterflies as they fluttered overhead, or pausing 
an instant to smell and touch with her dainty 
fingers some glowing flower beside her path, until 


374 


PALMS. 


her hand was once more in the clasp of Zilla’s, 
and their steps turned towards the cascade. 

After his interview with the old steward, Ne- 
mesius rode out to his camp, where, after attend- 
ing to military details, and reviewing certain ev- 
olutions in some newly adopted tactics, he re- 
turned to the villa, to find a messenger from the 
Emperor awaiting him, with a letter written in 
his own almost illegible hand, requesting his 
presence at the palace that evening — a request 
which, coming from him, meant a command. 

Arriving at the palace, Nemesius found the 
rich and spacious apartments thronged with such 
of Rome’s distinguished patricians as had not 
left the city for their summer homes on the La- 
tian coast, or gone to their mountain villas ; also 
military personages, orators, wits and scholars; 
for Valerian Imperator affected to be a patron of 
literature and learning. Among the guests were 
many beautiful women, whose sparkling eyes 
and rich garments gave brightness and variety to 
the scene. 

On entering he was met by one of the Emperor’s 
pages, who informed him that his imperial mas- 
ter had retired to his cabinet and awaited his 
presence. It had been some weeks since the 
handsome commander of the Imperial Region 
had shown himself at the palace, and he found 
his progress impeded by many, who, imagining 
he was there of his own pleasure, thronged 
around him with friendly greeting and pleasant 
words. 


PALMS. 


375 


Gravely courteous, a whispered word of his 
being on his way to the Emperor, released him 
from their well-intentioned importunities, and, 
anticipating no further interruptions, he passed 
on, looking neither to the right nor the left, 
until when near the draped entrance through 
which he was to pass into the ante-room of the 
imperial cabinet, he heard a sweet, low voice, 
meant for his ear only, saying: “Not a word or 
a look for a friend?” Turning quickly, he con- 
fronted Eaodice, who, attired in soft, gold-col- 
ored Eastern silk, set off by draperies of scarlet 
Syrian gauze, spangled with gold, and jewels 
rare and sparkling, looked dazzlingly beautiful. 
As the glance of Nemesius rested for a moment 
on her, the color deepened in her cheeks, and 
her eyes shone under their long, black fringes 
with half-veiled splendor. 

“My friends forgive my inattention as soon as 
they hear that the Emperor has sent for me, and 
that I am on my way to his presence, ’ ’ he re- 
plied, in gravely courteous tones; and the Ro- 
man gentleman would have passed on without 
further parley, but, advancing nearer to him, 
she said: 

“Spare me just a moment! I would hear 
something of thy lovely child, and news of the 
dear Princess Vi via.” 

So near had she come that some of her fringes 
and gauze drapings had caught and got tangled 
about the hilt of his sword, which he, intent 


PALMS. 


376 

only on the object for which he was there, did 
not at first perceive. 

“ Claudia is well, and happy to be at home 
among her flowers. Fabian is the correspondent 
of the Princess; but he is hunting somewhere in 
Umbria, so that I have really heard nothing from 
her since her departure,” he answered, and 
would have gone on, but discovered his awk- 
ward dilemma, and made an effort to disentangle 
his sword, but, manlike, only tore the flimsy 
gauze, which seemed to elude his grasp, and 
made matters worse. 

While thus busied, she full of apologies, his 
hand came in contact with her lithe, cool fin- 
gers, who, under’ pretence of assisting to sepa- 
rate the mischievous tangle, contrived to make 
it more inextricable. She felt that he started, 
and drew back from her touch as if an asp had 
stung him, and said in her most dulcet tones: 
“Why always cold only to me, Nemesius?” 
He seemed not to hear her, but, making a step 
backward, slipped the scabbard from his sword, 
which remained dangling to her fringes and 
scarf; then, with a grave bow, he left her with 
the trophy she had so unfairly won, and a few 
minutes later entered the Emperor’s cabinet, 
with a shadow of annoyance on his countenance, 
showing how intolerably the incident had made 
itself felt. 

Valerian, always impatient and irascible, 
scowled and gave him cold greeting; but when 


PALMS. 


377 


the delay was explained, the situation struck his 
sense of the ridiculous, and a low rumble of 
laughter, which threatened to end in apoplexy, 
told that he was appeased. 

“By the gods!” he exclaimed, as soon as he 
recovered breath, ‘ 1 it was a cunning trick Cupid 
played thee, my grave commander; and, since 
he has caught thy sword in his net, it is to be 
supposed thy heart will be the next to sur- 
render. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 My heart, great Emperor, had already made 
its choice and complete surrender before this 
awkward accident occurred,” answered Neme- 
sius, whose words had a significance of deeper 
import than his hearer dreamed of. 

“By Apollo! that is news I am glad to hear; 
but it does not surprise me; for it is the cold, 
silent ones who are not only sly, my Nemesius, 
but like snow-mantled volcanoes, that burst into 
flame at unexpected moments, and just when 
people begin to think they are frozen,” said 
Valerian, in his throaty, rumbling tones, evi- 
dently well pleased at his own wit; “but,” he 
continued, “there are matters of more impor- 
tance of which I desire to inform thee, knowing 
how zealous thou art for the glory and honor of 
Rome. Information comes that the army of the 
Persian monarch has fallen back from his fron- 
tier, and that he has dispatched an envoy hither 
with proposals which will not be known until 
he arrives. Sapor is a crafty fellow, and, although 


PALMS. 


378 

I have no faith in him, I shall humor his mood 
to a certain extent, until some expected treasures 
come into my hands, wherewith I may be enabled 
to carry on the war with more destructive effect. 
Thou hast heard — nothing else has been talked 
of in Rome — about a Christian named Laurence, 
and his sorceries at the house of Hippolytus, and 
all that happened?” 

Nemesius had, indeed, heard, but simply 
bowed in the affirmative, and held his peace by 
a mighty effort, blit from no craven impulse, as 
may be imagined. 

“Under dread of torture, this blasphemer of 
the gods has promised to reveal where the treas- 
ures of the Christians are concealed. They are 
reported to be immense. After I possess myself 
of them I will reward both him and Hippolytus 
— yes, by the infernal gods! such reward as will 
astonish them and delight Rome. Listen! I 
have been reading some of the Greek classics, 
and found not only new ideas, but certain novel 
methods; and I have also some splendid un- 
broken horses from the plains of Northern Asia, 
to illustrate an exciting episode. I have thought, 
too, of a new feast for the gods — a roast un- 
dreamed of in the culinary art, the fumes of 
which will be as incense sweeter than the nard 
of Assyria, and the cinnamon and spices of Ara- 
bia. We will propitiate the divinities with more 
Christian blood, until the earth smokes with it; 
then, all being ready, we’ll plant the Roman 


PALMS. 


379 


eagles on the hills of Persia, and bring Sapor in 
chains to Rome to grace our triumph. ’ ’ 

And so the tyrant boasted until his face grew 
purple, and his eyes glared with such diabolical 
fury that he failed to observe the countenance 
of Nemesius, which was bent upon him with a 
stern expression of prophetic warning, whilst 
his lips could scarcely keep back the words that 
would declare him a Christian. But the time 
had not yet come for this, and the Spirit of Rove 
that had led him into the very vestibule of Truth 
restrained him for a more perfect and glorious 
testimony. 

When at last he was permitted to leave the 
imperial presence, and had got outside the pal- 
ace, he found a slave of Raodice — the Cypriot — 
in waiting with his sword, which he presented 
with profound obeisance, and with it a letter; 
then instantly and without a word, withdrew, 
gliding away somewhere in the darkness like a 
shadow. 

That night before he slept, Nemesius, assisted 
by the old steward, removed and destroyed the 
shrine in his apartment, before which he had for 
many years offered idolatrous worship to the god 
whose image in gold stood thereon — the god in 
whose honor he had daily poured the morning 
libation of wine mixed with frankincense, and 
at eventide burnt costly Arabian gums and 
spices. The image, plate, small brazier, and 
cup, all of gold, and fine workmanship, he bat- 


PALMS. 


38° 

tered together into a shapeless mass, and directed 
Symphronius who from henceforth was the con- 
fidential agent of his charities — to sell the metal, 
and give the price to the poor. He commanded 
further that before the sunset of another day all 
the images of the Lares and Penates , and every 
vestige of idolatry, should be removed to the 
cellar, and there broken, and afterwards cast into 
a pit to be burnt for lime. 

Then, commending his soul to God, and in- 
voking the Holy Name of His divine Son, he 
retired to rest, after a day into which had been 
crowded an eternity. 


PALMS. 


381 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TARES AND WHEAT AND FINE GOLD. 

Nemesius would have retired from the Em- 
peror’s presence at an earlier moment, but he 
had an object in remaining until the fury of the 
tyrant exhausted itself, which it presently did, 
in fitful curses and hoarse mutterings, like the 
last growls of a spent tempest; then, having re- 
freshed himself with a copious draught of snow- 
cooled wine, and dried on a napkin of fine Egyp- 
tian linen his lurid visage, over which the sweat 
of his wrath still poured, he threw himself back 
against the gold-broidered cushions of his chair, 
and turned his bloodshot eyes on the grave, 
noble countenance of Nemesius, who stood lean- 
ing with easy grace upon the pedestal of a col- 
umn, awaiting the opportunity he sought. It 
had come at last, and he spoke in his usual clear, 
even tones: 

“I have a request to prefer, imperial sir,” he 
said. 

With a gesture Valerian signified his readiness 
to give attention, not having yet sufficiently re- 
covered his breath to speak. 

“As there is a prospect that active hostilities 
will be delayed by this new move of King Sa- 


PALMS. 


382 

por,” continued Nemesius, “and as my legion- 
aries are finely equipped, and under- perfect dis- 
cipline, I wish to transfer for a short time my 
command to the officer second in rank to myself, 
that I may look into my private affairs, and set 
them in order.” 

“A most reasonable request, and one to be ex- 
pected after thy confession of an hour ago. It 
is but natural thou shouldst wish to spend a few 
days in dalliance with thy charmer before en- 
countering the grim chances of war,” answered 
Valerian, with rumbling voice and a coarse leer. 
“Thy requests are few, Nemesius; and thou hast 
always done good service to the Empire, and not 
seldom risked thy head into the bargain by thy 
free speech to me — aye, and, by the gods ! would 
have lost it too, but that thy audacious sincerity 
amused and refreshed me, and because I some- 
times have need of one who does not fear to 
speak the truth, as thou alone hast the courage 
to do. Thou art no plotter, which cannot be 
said of many, and thy request is granted; but 
hold thyself in readiness for a sudden move at 
any hour, as I am convinced that the crafty 
Sapor is only couching for a deadlier spring. 
And — hold, Nemesius! — thou hast free access to 
the prisons: the order has not been revoked; 
look into them now and then, to observe whether 
or no those contumacious Christians get the 
full measure of their deserts. Gods! how the 
wretches tire and sicken me!” 


PALMS. 


3S3 


u I thank thee for the favor granted, imperial 
sir, and for thy kind words. I will not fail to 
visit the prisons/’ said Nemesius, as he bowed 
and turned to leave the cabinet. 

“And take this kiss to the beautiful little 
blind maid at the villa,” cried the Emperor, 
tossing a kiss towards him from his trembling, 
bloated fingers. 

While the blood surged into his face at the 
bare suggestion, Nemesius, with an inclination 
of his head, left the cabinet, saying, mentally: 
“Yes; I will visit the prisons, but not in accord- 
ance with thy cruel design; and as to thy kiss, 
let it pass to thy dczmons , for whom only it is fit. ’ ’ 
As he had left the palace, he met the Cypriot, 
as already related, who gave him his sword and 
a letter; thrusting the first into its scabbard, 
without noticing the fragment of spangled Syrian 
gauze that clung to the handle, and the latter 
under his sword-belt, he mounted his horse, put 
him to a gallop, and did not slacken his speed 
until he got beyond the crowded streets. 

In thinking over his interview with Valerian 
by the light of faith which now illumined his 
soul, Nemesius felt as if he had been confronted 
with the very incarnation of the old, cruel idola- 
trous belief which he had that day abandoned, 
and now thought of with the greatest horror, 
while he experienced a more irresistibly urgent 
desire to fly from it, to be rid of every vestige of 
it, that, untrammelled, he might offer the entire 


PALMS. 


3S4 

homage of his being and life to the One, Supreme 
God. 

He was impatient for the morrow’s noon, when, 
by the voluntary act of his own will, he would 
receive Holy Baptism at the hands of the Chris- 
tian Pontiff, which would be the sign and seal 
of his high calling as a soldier of Christ. His 
great heart overflowed with gratitude, as he 
thought of the gratuitous and undeserved favors 
of which he had been the recipient — he who up 
to the time his child received her sight, had been 
the enemy of God and His servants, and was 
worthy only of eternal condemnation. Hence- 
forth whatever he possessed, all that he was — 
his child, the most precious of all ; his fortune, 
his time, his being, his life — he devoted with all 
the energy, sincerity, and generosity of his soul 
to the honor and glory of Him who had opened 
her blind eyes, and at the same time unsealed his 
benighted mind to a diviner light. 

Nemesius was a man who never did things by 
halves; he had all his life held an uncompromis- 
ing belief in a false and idolatrous religious 
system, and now, seeing his error, he would be as 
uncompromisingly and as sincerely a Christian. 

These thoughts occupied his mind as he rode 
homeward through the balmy, star-lighted night, 
exalting his spirit, and filling him with a strange 
and wonderful peace; which explained to him, in 
a measure, the fortitude and constancy of the 
martyrs, whose sufferings he had sometimes wit- 
nessed. 


PALMS. 


385 

Claudia was at her window watching for him. 
The first day in Paradise could not have been a 
greater surprise and joy to Eve, than this one 
had been to her whose eyes for the first time had 
feasted on the beauties of nature, and whose 
spirit, purified by the holy water of regeneration, 
beheld in them the creations of Him of whom 
she had never heard until this, the day of her 
new birth. 

“ O my father!” she said, after embracing him, 
“there has been so much to see! At last I 
watched the sun go down into the sea, and the 
sky was full of such beautiful lights, until the 
darkness came; then I was frightened, until I 
saw the stars like gold blossoms sprinkled over 
the sky : some of them bright and dancing, some 
shining far away, others glittering among the 
tree-tops. O my own father! is not He who 
made them, good to give lamps to the night, that 
there may be no darkness?” 

‘ ‘ He is indeed good, my sweet one — this 
Creator and Supreme God, and worthy of all love 
and homage,” said Nemesius, tenderly. “Now 
seek thy couch, my child, and ask His protection 
before sleeping.” 

He kissed her, looked once more into her 
bright, beaming eyes with a glad uplifting of his 
heart, then left her with Zilla, and went down 
the corridor to his own apartments. Throwing 
his helmet and sword upon a table, his eye was 
attracted by something white, which had fallen 
13 


PALMS. 


386 

to the floor when he unbuckled his sword-belt. 
He saw, by the rays of the lamp overhead, that 
it was the letter he had so mysteriously received, 
and which he had forgotten until this moment. 
Mechanically he took it up, broke the seal that 
held the silk cords together, slipped them off and 
opened it. Glancing over the first lines, a slight 
start of astonishment, his knitted brows, and the 
dark flush that mantled his face, indicated some- 
thing unusual and displeasing. 

As it was, indeed; for Laodice, almost hope- 
less of winning his love, had fallen on this des- 
perate expedient — one that she had sometimes 
thought of, but which was precipitated by her 
accidentally meeting him that night. As soon 
as he had passed on to the Emperor’s cabinet, 
she fled to her own apartments, and, led by her 
passionate, audacious nature, which mastered 
her womanly pride and her very reason, she 
wrote to him the letter he has just read, laying 
herself and her love at his feet. How many 
things were now understood which at the time 
of their occurrence had caused him only a mo- 
mentary surprise! Again a dark flush mantled 
his noble face. “Unhappy woman!” he said, 
speaking low; “thy confidence shall never be 
betrayed, but there is only one course open to 
me.” 

Opening his cabinet, he selected a fine piece 
of vellum, and wrote: 


PALMS. 


387 

“The enclosed is returned, to be thrown into the flames 
by the same hand that penned it, and forgotten. A heart 
already bestowed, and engrossed by a supreme love, has 
nothing left to offer except good wishes.” 

This he folded with the letter in a wrapper of 
papyrus, secured it in the usual way with silk 
cord and his seal, directed it, and, with it in his 
hand, went to ascertain if Symphronius was 
still up. The old steward had not gone to bed; 
he had just risen from his devotions when his 
master entered. No need had he to grasp and 
conceal the crucifix before which he had been 
praying, when he heard footsteps approach his 
door, or dash away the tears which his contem- 
plation of the sufferings of Christ had caused to 
flow over his wrinkled face ; for his master was, 
like himself, a Christian; and in those days the 
new birth made childlike the old as well as the 
young, and they loved the Christus with simple 
minds, their only aim being to show their devo- 
tion to Him, even to the shedding of their blood, 
in return for all He had done and suffered for 
them. 

“I am glad to find thee awake,” said Neme- 
sius, gently; “for I should have been sorry to 
disturb thy slumbers. I have an important let- 
ter, which I wish to be delivered early to-morrow 
by a trusty messenger, and thought I might find 
Admetus here. ’ ’ 

“He will be here about midnight. He has 
been sent to bear the Holy Bread to some who 


PALMS. 


388 

are to suffer at the Temple of Mars to-morrow, 
among them a priest,” answered Symphronius. 
“One of the prison guards, a Christian, knows 
the boy; and, besides, the friends of the con- 
demned are allowed to visit them the day before 
their fiery trial.” 

Nemesius knew this to be a fact; he had more 
than once witnessed these last interviews, and 
observed that the victims wore serene counte- 
nances, irradiated by flashes of divinO anticipa- 
tion; while their friends lamented and wept bit- 
terly, reproaching them for preferring a cruel 
death to life and safety, which a grain of incense 
offered to the gods would purchase. But he 
knew nothing yet of the Holy Bread, which, in 
times of persecution like the present, the exigen- 
cies of the Church allowed to be conveyed to the 
victims, by approved messengers, to strengthen 
and refresh them in the conflicts through which 
they were condemned to pass to their exceeding 
great triumph and reward ; but he would soon 
know in all its fulness and divine significance 
that it was the bread of eternal life, the Most 
Holy Eucharist, the real body and blood of Jesus 
Christ. 

“When he comes give him the letter, and 
charge him to deliver it only into the hands of 
the person to whom it is directed, at the imper- 
ial palace, and allow 110 other eye than his own 
to see the superscription,” said Nemesius, grasp- 
ing the hand of his faithful old servant. “And 


PALMS. 389 

to-morrow I have much to say to thee, and many 
matters to arrange ; but now good-night. ’ ’ 

At last, in the solitude of his own apartment, 
the happy convert was alone with his thoughts. 
The moon hung gibbous and pale over the dis- 
tant sea, and a cool, damp wind drifted up from 
the Tiber, whispering its moan to the shivering 
leaves. To this noble Roman soldier it had 
been a wonderful day, from beginning to end, 
typical of God’s world, in which His marvels, 
by some secret design of His providence, are 
woven in with human antagonisms, and stand 
face to face with evil. After the joy of the morn- 
ing, how repulsive to his nature and his newly- 
awakened soul all that the evening had brought. 
But it was already past, borne away as by a tor- 
rent, leaving unobscured the grace of faith which 
had risen out of the darkness upon him. 

He sat there in the shadow, thinking. He 
knew nothing yet of Christian dogmas, but his 
entire faith in the existence, supremacy, and 
eternity of God, in His power and divine attri- 
butes, opened the way to their reception and 
glad acceptance without discussion; for there 
would be nothing to doubt in whatever pro- 
ceeded from Him, the everlasting Truth. On 
the morrow he would receive holy baptism, the 
sign and seal of his covenant with Christ, by 
which, the Pontiff Stephen had instructed him; 
he would be made a child of God, and admitted to 
full participation in the divine mysteries He had 


390 


PALMS. 


provided for His faithful ones. And so he 
rested content on the rock of Faith, until knowl- 
edge should come. 

Nemesius had heard the old story oft repeated 
that the Christians at the celebration of their 
secret rites worshipped an ass’s head — the old 
rabbinical legend, which had drifted to Rome 
centuries before, and had been forgotten and re- 
vived over and over again as an invective and 
reproach to the Jews, and later to the Christians, 
between whom at first, and even when they 
might have known better, the ignorant minds 
of the Roman soldiers could not distinguish. 
The legend ran that a certain high-priest of the 
synagogue was in the habit of remaining so long 
in the Holy of Holies when it was his turn to 
officiate, that one day, having prolonged his stay 
to even a greater length than usual, a Eevite was 
sent to see if perhaps he was dead, and on open- 
ing the curtain beheld him alive, and worship- 
ping a spirit in the form of an ass. * 

There had never been lack of intercourse be- 
tween Rome and Judea, international comities 
and alliances for aid and defence, especially when 
the latter was beset and sorely pressed by Syria, 
Egypt, and Assyria in turn, and assisted by 
Rome, until such time as she was ready to ‘ 1 lay 
waste” the land, and number it among her own 

* Spoken of by Jerome in the 4th century, also by Epiph- 
anius, Bishop of Salamis. It was current among the Gnos- 
tics. 


PALMS. 


391 


insatiate conquests. Pompey’s soldiers brought 
the legend afresh to Rome with their Hebrew 
captives, to fling it at them with blows and de- 
rision; again the soldiers of Titus used it as a 
gibe to give emphasis to their insults and cruel- 
ties towards the unfortunate people, whose holy 
city they had razed to the ground. And so, 
through ignorance of the distinction which sep- 
arated Jew and Christian, it got fastened on the 
latter, because they celebrated the sacred func- 
tions in secret. 

And it was not an unusual occurrence that 
some who had embraced Christianity, but had 
not yet been advanced to a participation in or 
even to be present at the holy mysteries of the 
Eucharistic Sacrifice, when arrested and con- 
fronted with the rack, or the lions, or the flames, 
through mortal terror not only denied Christ, but 
cursed Him, and corroborated the foolish accusa- 
tion about the worship of an ass’s had. Nor did 
they deny that the Christians, as was currently 
reported and believed, sacrificed a young child 
every day to their Divinity, and afterwards de- 
voured it. Conjecture can only suggest the 
origin of the last malignant report. It was 
known through spies and apostates that the 
Christian priests offered to their Deity a pure, 
spotless sacrifice of flesh and blood, of which they 
afterwards partook. 

Ignorant of the Divine Eucharist, what could 
so well answer that which they imagined as a 


39 2 


PALMS. 


young, sinless child ? They knew that the most 
precious sacrifice that could be offered to Moloch 
was a young child, and that mothers themselves, 
to propitiate him by sacrificing what they most 
valued, placed their offspring in his great, brazen 
hands, which, heated by fires within the statue, 
scorched thei-r tender flesh, while wild, barbarous 
music and shouts rent the air to drown their 
shrieks, until the little victims dropped into a 
fiery abyss below. Of course then it was a young 
child that was daily sacrificed to the Christus, 
and Roman mothers held their babes close lest 
they should be stolen for this purpose; while to 
threaten a refractory little one with, “ I’ll give 
thee to the Christians!” was sufficient to reduce 
it to swift obedience and quiet. 

Nemesius had heard these rumors, and there 
were times when, if they had interested him in 
the least, he might have believed them ; but now, 
having the grace of faith, the golden portal of 
all others, neither fables nor malignant rumors 
had power to disturb his mind. 

There was no need for Nemesius to count the 
the cost of becoming a Christian, for he was fa- 
miliar with the methods of the persecution, and 
knew exactly what it was; but the arrangement 
of his affairs and the disposal of his wealth re- 
quired consideration. Whatever the details of 
his plans might be, he was resolved that, in case 
he and his child were called upon to suffer mar- 
tyrdom, the persecuted Church should inherit his 


PALMS. 


393 


wealth for the benefit of her needy and suffering 
members; and even were they left unscathed — 
which he had no reason to expect — he would de- 
vote the greater part of his substance to the same 
objects, as a thank-offering to God for the mirac- 
ulous and inestimable favors they had received 
at His hands. 

On the following morning Nemesius had an 
early interview with his old steward, to whom he 
confided some of the preliminaries relating to 
certain plans which he purposed to intrust to his 
supervision, among them the liberation of his 
slaves, whose number he did not know. But 
Symphronius had been the factor of the rich 
estate on the Aventine too many decades to be 
ignorant of that, or any other business detail con- 
nected with it; his service had been too vigilant 
and honest, his accounts too thoroughly well 
kept, for him to feel disturbed now at the pros- 
pect of his present task by a wearisome sense of 
anticipated toil, or a dread of uncertain results. 
His systematic methods of the past simplified the 
undertaking, while the motive sweetened and 
lightened it. 

Zealous to begin the work confided to him, the 
old man went back to his office, to take from the 
secret corners of his cabinet accounts and records 
f which he had not expected would ever see the 
light again until he had passed to the shades. 
He knew that every one of them would bear the 
most captious scrutiny; but now, since every- 


394 


PALMS. 


thing had to be divided and parcelled off, and 
the slaves liberated, it was quite a different mat- 
ter, in spirit and in fact, from all that had gone 
before; for in this the old leaven of idolatry had 
no part, the honor and glory of the only true God 
being the incentive. 

Nemesins sought Claudia in the apartment 
where the light morning repast was usually 
taken. She had just come in from the beautiful 
gardens, and was waiting for him. She was ar- 
rayed in a white, silver-embroidered robe and 
tunic; her eyes sparkled as if, like the fountain’s 
spray, they had drank the sunlight; her cheeks, 
delicately tinted, were dimpled with smiles; her 
hair, thrown back from her round, childish fore- 
head, flowed in light, golden waves over her 
shoulders; and Nemesius thought, as she flew to 
his embrace, that so the angels of God must look; 
for with her human loveliness there was that 
nameless light irradiating her countenance, which 
like the “beauty of the King’s daughter,” was 
from within. 

“bucilla, my own!” he said, tenderly, as he 
gazed into the bright eyes uplifted to his. 

“The light is beautiful, my father; it fills me, 
and, oh ! it makes my heart so glad, that I stretch 
out my arms so” — showing him — “to fly like 
the doves ! ’ ’ 

1 1 Thou hast not wings yet, dearest, ’ ’ he an- 
swered, laying his hand caressingly on her 
golden head — “not yet. But come: I must eat 


PALMS. 395 

something and be off; for I have much to attend 
to to-day.” 

Instead of offering the customary libation, 
Nemesius made the blessed Sign of the Cross, 
which Claudia did also, while she breathed the 
Holy Name that glowed in her heart; then as 
the minutes flew she told him with childlike 
rapture of all she had seen that morning — the 
sunrise, the fountains glittering in its beams; 
her doves, and her wonder to see them spread 
their snowy wings and sail away in the air; the 
flowers, and last of all Grillo, whose appearance 
filled her with surprise and merriment ; his long 
ears, his long, solemn face, his bright eyes and 
small hoofs, altogether forming an image 
strangely unlike the one her imagination had 
pictured of him. He knew her by her voice, 
and she knew him by his; for in his delight at 
seeing her he had lifted it up aloud, holding her 
in half-frightened suspense until his vociferous 
welcome subsided. 

There was not a shadow to dim the ecstatic 
happiness that had so unexpectedly come into 
her life; by Zilla’s tender, vigilant care, nothing 
of pain or sorrow had ever been permitted to 
reach her ears; consequently she had not as yet 
heard anything of the persecution and its hor- 
rors, and a sudden pang smote her father’s heart 
as the thought of what might await her in the 
near future now passed vividly through his 
mind. Would she not die in wild affright if 


PALMS. 


39 6 

confronted with, the ghastly horrors of a cruel 
death? Would not her child-heart fail at the 
very last before the appalling paraphernalia of 
torture? 

He had too often faced carnage and death on 
the battle-field, to dread it in any shape for him- 
self; to have lost his life under the proud ad- 
vancing eagles of Rome would have been fame, 
but to lose it now for Christ, who had suffered 
all things for his salvation, would not only 
sweeten the ignominy, the insults and tortures 
of martyrdom, but win for himself a fadeless 
glory, and crowning beyond all that earth could 
give. But for her — ah! he could not yet endure 
the contemplation of it; he put it away from him, 
arose from the table, and, after embracing her 
with great tenderness, hastened out to mount his 
horse, go to his camp, and transfer his command 
in due form. He was beginning to learn how 
possible it is for human nature to be crucified 
without the cross and the nails. 

When half way down the avenue, Nemesius 
saw a chariot, attended by slaves, pass the bronze 
gates. As it approached nearer, he observed 
that it was occupied by a lady of distinguished 
appearance, whom he almost instantly recognized 
as Camilla, the wife of Tertullus, and he drew 
rein. Her fine, spirited face lighted up with 
pleasure, and after the usual salutations were 
exchanged she said, in a low tone: 

u I have come to make the acquaintance of thy 
little daughter, and wish thee joy.” 


PALMS. 


397 


“I will turn back and introduce her to thee, 
for she is shy of strangers. Thy thought of her 
is most kind, ’ ’ he replied, remembering that the 
Pontiff had promised that this lady would in- 
struct Claudia in the rudiments of Christian 
doctrine. 

Camilla was not critically beautiful, but the 
intelligence, brightness, and frank expression of 
her face, imparted to it a winning charm which 
was irresistible. She had been the gayest woman 
in Rome, full of audacious courage to overstep 
conventional customs, if they interfered with her 
pleasures; witty, outspoken, and carrying off 
everything she did with such cheerful grace 
that, instead of blame, she won admiration, and 
had, notwithstanding her escapades, a reputation 
that was without a flaw. By her sayings or 
doings, she kept her large circle of friends well 
provided with amusement; while her entertain- 
ments, quite out of the beaten track of such 
things, were made delightful more by their 
novelty than their splendor and profusion. But 
suddenly, so her friends said, she had taken a 
caprice, and adopted a more quiet mode of life; 
she excused herself by declaring, in a laughing 
way, that she was' only learning how to grow 
old with a good grace, and how at last to assume 
the dignity of a Roman matron, which she had 
been accused of lacking. 

But the fact was — : sub rosa — that Camilla’s 
husband, Tertullus, whom she idolized, had be- 


398 


PALMS. 


come a Christian, through having heard the 
testimony and witnessed the martyrdom of a 
friend he loved, and she, by the grace of God, 
followed his example. Since then many daring 
things had been done in Rome for the persecuted 
Christians — many an edict had been brushed 
over with lime or pitch; many a martyr’s body, 
destined for the cloacae, mysteriously disap- 
peared; but neither the instigators nor perpetra- 
tors of these outrages could be traced. But had 
she chosen to speak, Camilla could have given 
the key to it all; for her own daring spirit was 
now exercised otherwise than for the amusement 
of her friends, and it was she who incited many 
of these exploits. 

She and her husband had many a laugh to- 
gether in secret when she recounted her hair- 
breadth escapes; how, by ingenious devices, she 
had set magistrates and prison officials by the 
ears, thereby delaying, by a confusion of orders, 
the torture and execution of those who at a given 
time were sentenced to die for their steadfast 
faith in Christ; and how, once on a dark, stormy 
night, she had caused to be suspended from the 
neck of one of the marble deities, a rude portrait 
of Valerian Imperator, head downward. She 
had alert hands and willing, agile feet to do her 
bidding, and gold in plenty to bribe sordid jailers 
and executioners for certain purposes, not unlike 
that which inspired Joseph of Arimathea and 
Nicodemus to go secretly, after the Crucifixion, 


PALMS. 


399 


with, fine linen and spices, to give sacred sepul- 
ture to the dead Christ. It was she who planned 
everything, and sometimes, moved by her adven- 
turous spirit, took an individual and personal 
share in the attendant perils. 

This was, however, but one side of Camilla’s 
present life ; the reverse showed a sweet, womanly 
tenderness in her ministrations to the suffering 
and afflicted, an unsparing hand in relieving 
their necessities; she had words of strong fervor 
and consolation for the weak and faint-hearted, 
and courage herself to die, whenever called, for 
the love of Him whom she so zealously loved 
and served. 

By this time the villa is reached, and, assisted 
by Nemesius, Camilla alights from her chariot. 
Claudia is straying among the flowers, and lis- 
tening to the carols of her old friends, the finches 
and thrushes, hidden among the leafy coverts 
overhead. She hears her father call her, drops 
the violets and roses she has gathered, and, 
emerging from a tangled screen of white jasmine 
and eglantine which had concealed her, she runs 
with swift, graceful steps towards him. Taking 
her hand, he introduces her to the strange lady, 
who had watched her approach with moistened 
eyes and a sweet, friendly smile. After one 
quick, penetrating glance into her face, which 
the child seems to read instantaneously, she lays 
her hand in the lady’s soft clasp, and in few sim- 
ple words gives her welcome. 


4oo 


PALMS. 


Then Nemesius, well satisfied, left them to- 
gether; he had not a moment to spare; he must 
be at his camp by a certain time; his business 
there would consume at least an hour, and at 
noon he was due at the old walled villa out near 
the Via Latina. 

Camilla attracted and won Claudia, and after 
Nemesius had mounted and ridden away, she 
proposed that they should go and find a seat in 
some shaded, sequestered spot in the gardens, 
saying, with a bright smile: 

“I have things to tell thee, my child, meant 
only for thine own ear. The birds and the foun- 
tains babble only of their own affairs. I want to 
talk to thee of yesterday, and thy visit to my 
villa beyond Rome. Ah! now thou knowest! 
Come. ’ ’ 

u Dost thou know Him who opened my blind 
eyes — the Christus ?’ ’ asked the child, her coun- 
tenance radiant with sweet eagerness. 

“Aye, and in truth do I, my little one; and it 
is to speak to thee of Him that the holy Bishop 
Stephen has sent me here to-day,” answered Ca- 
milla, as hand in hand, they wandered through 
the fragrant, shaded alleys to the Grotto of Sile- 
nus, where they found comfortable seats on the 
moss-grown mounds that surrounded it. 

While the fountain tossed its spray towards 
the sun, with a sound like far-off silver bells, — 
while the birds sang, and the blue Roman sky 
looked down from its viewless depths over the 


PALMS. 


401 


indescribable beauty of the scene, Camilla, in sim- 
ple, touching language, related to the child the 
wonderful story of God’s infinite love and mercy, 
which had moved Him to give His only Son to 
die for the redemption of His creatures, whose 
sins made them worthy only of condemnation; 
and how His Virgin Mother — Advocata nostra — 
had suffered willingly with her divine Son, hold- 
ing nothing back, crucifying nature, and accept- 
ing her desolation and sorrow, so that nothing 
should be wanting to complete the sacrifice. 
Tears filled Camilla’s eyes; her strong face grew 
soft and tender as she spoke to the little neophyte, 
who listened with rapt attention, as if fearing to 
lose a single word. 

u Oh!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “if 
/ had been there I would have asked the cruel 
ones to take my life, and spare His. How could 
the Holy Mother bear such grief? Was it for the 
love of us she stood by His Cross, silent and weep- 
ing?” 

‘ 1 It was all for us, dear child, that both suf- 
fered — through love whose depths can never be 
sounded, whose heights the human mind can 
never reach; He in His sacred flesh, she in her 
sacred, maternal heart,” said Camilla, who in 
her fervor almost forgot that she was speaking to 
a child. 

“I cannot understand it all yet, but I can love! 
I can love! His name, Jesus Christus, is in my 
heart, and I will ask Him to let me too be the 

13* 


402 


PALMS. 


child of His Holy Virgin Mother, to live at her 
feet and learn. He opened my blind eyes but 
yesterday, and then I knew Him — not until then ; 
and now my father and old Symphronius and I 
no longer worship the gods, but Him only, ’ ’ said 
Claudia, her face aglow with earnest desire. 

‘ ‘ hove like thine, dear child, is most precious 
to Him — more precious than knowledge; for it 
was love that stood by Him at the Cross when all 
had abandoned Him — love that had no thought 
of self, and was exalted to the highest courage. 
Thy love, my child, is precious in His sight, and 
His grace will be sufficient unto thee. I heard 
with great joy what had happened at my villa 
yesterday; and my husband, who is a brave of- 
ficer of the Praetorian Guard, and a Christian, 
could scarcely contain his delight when the holy 
Bishop, after the divine function, at which we 
were both present, told us the glad tidings; for 
thy father is a noble conquest, over whom the 
persecuted Church rejoices. I am coming to see 
thee often, dear one, to teach thee the rudiments 
of the Christian faith, and lead thee to a knowl- 
edge of its divine sacraments, which will unfold 
new joys, new mysteries of love, that will bring 
thee in nearer communion with the dear Jesus 
Christ every hour, every day.” 

“O lady! how much I thank thee!” exclaimed 
Claudia, kissing Camilla’s hand, which held hers; 
“ I think He will help me to understand, for I 
am only a child. ’ ’ 


PALMS. 


403 


u He will help thee, little one, never fear,” 
answered Camilla, with one of her radiant smiles, 
as her eyes rested lovingly on the angelic face 
uplifted to hers. ‘ 4 Dost thou know the Sign of 
the Cross, and how to bless thyself in the Name 
of the Most Holy Trinity?” 

“I know the sign, but not the words,” was the 
simple answer. 

Camilla taught her, the little girl repeating the 
holy names after her distinctly and reverently. 

“Do this often, sweet child; it is the Chris- 
tian’s aegis in all dangers. Now I must be gone, 
but here is something I have brought thee to 
wear next to thy heart — a little picture of Advo- 
cata nostra , ’ ’ said Camilla, giving Claudia a crys- 
tal medallion, on' the inside of which was painted 
the lovely face of the Virgin Mother.* 

“And this is my treasure,” continued the no- 
ble lady, drawing a gem from her bosom, on 
which was cut in intaglio a head of Christ, 
copied from a famous one of the reign of Tibe- 
rius Caesar; f the face that of a “man of sorrows 
and afflicted with grief, ’ ’ who had ‘ ‘ never been 

* Crystal medallions of this description, which open like 
lockets of the present day, have occasionally been found, 
with the bodies of the martyrs in the Catacombs; some with 
sacred images painted within, others plain. It is supposed 
that in times of persecution the Christians, in view of the 
perils to which they were constantly exposed, were permitted 
to bear the Sacred Host about their person in these crystal 
receptacles, to be used as their Viaticum in extremity, 
f See appendix. 


404 


PALMS. 


seen to smile, but often to weep,” — a face on 
which the griefs of the world were stamped. 
The child’s eyes grew sad as she gazed upon it; 
her heart was so full, she whispered, scarcely 
breathing, His Name; “0 Jesu Christe!” then 
pressing the sacred image to her lips, she gave it 
back to Camilla. 

‘ ‘And this, ’ ’ she said presently, as they were 
returning to the villa, while she held the crystal 
medallion close to her heart, ‘ ‘ I will keep right 
here, that the thought of her and of her Divine 
Son may dwell there together. Thou hast been 
very good to me, dear lady, and I wish I knew 
how to thank thee; but perhaps the next time 
thou art so kind as to come, and after I have 
thought it all over, I shall have found the words 
I ^vant.” 

‘ ‘ Love me, sweet one, ’ ’ said the Roman lady, 
with a bright smile ; “I wish no other thanks. 
Now we must part, but not for long, and may 
the dear Christus keep thee ! Farewell ! ’ ’ Then 
she bent down, and, kissing her, stepped into 
her chariot; the spirited animals dashed off, and 
a few moments later passed out of sight. 

Giving one more look at the tender, gracious 
face on her medallion, Claudia went in to find 
Zilla — pale, sad Zilla. She wanted a chain for 
the crystal ornament; she would not rest until it 
was suspended on her neck, and lying against 
her heart. 

Never so happy as when serving her, especi- 


PALMS. 


405 


ally now that she was no longer blind and de- 
pendent on her at every turn, Zilla looked over 
the ornaments and trinkets of her dead mis- 
tress, which had been confided to her care, and 
found one formed of light links of gold curiously 
wrought, upon which the medallion was slipped, 
the clasp of the chain fastened, and, without 
question on her part as to what it was or whence 
it came, she passed it over the child’s shining 
head, lifting the bright, silken curls to give it 
place; saw her press the pictured image to her 
lips, and drop it under the folds of her tunic into 
her bosom. Then, full of the old child-love, 
throwing her arms around Zilla, she kissed her. 

“Some Christian sorcery, doubtless,” bitterly 
thought the poor, faithful heart; “and perhaps 
more deadly than the amulet that Laodice gave 
her. O bona Dea! hast thou no power to save 
this child from destruction ? ” But she returned 
the little one’s caress, and began to talk with her 
as if nothing had happened. 

Nemesius, having reached his camp in good 
time, arranged the temporary transfer of his 
command to the officer second in rank, and 
reached the villa of Tertullus some minutes in 
advance of the hour which had been named by 
the Pontiff Stephen. The holy man received 
him with paternal kindness, bestowing his bless- 
ing, which he knelt to receive, after which the 
Pontiff proceeded to instruct him on the neces- 
sity and importance of Baptism as a condition to 


PALMS. 


406 

salvation. To the receptive and upright mind 
of Nemesius no difficulties presented themselves; 
for, already enlightened by divine grace, he 
questioned nothing, knowing that God was the 
Eternal Truth, and that, through His Son, He 
had revealed to His Church all things necessary 
to salvation. 

When the subject was explained and made 
clear to his understanding, and the Pontiff told 
him that he was then ready to administer the 
sacred rite, Nemesius hesitated, and said: 

“There is a question I would ask; one not 
implying doubt, but ignorance, on which I would 
be enlightened. ” 

‘ ‘ Thou wilt not ask amiss, for the Church is a 
divine guide. What wouldst thou know?” was 
the gentle response. 

‘ ‘ This. God being supreme, omniscient, and 
infinite in all His attributes, could He not have 
saved man, whom He created, without sending 
His Divine Son to suffer the torments, ignominy, 
and cruel death He endured for man’s salvation?” 

“That is a question which naturally presents 
itself to some minds on the threshold of Faith, 
but a few words will throw light upon it, ’ ’ an- 
swered the saintly Stephen. “Man, as thou 
hast learned, was created by God in order to fill 
the place of the angels who had fallen. But 
when man fell into sin, it became needful for 
God to punish him, or God would have mani- 
fested an indifference to sin, and would have 


PALMS. 


407 


ceased to be a righteous moral governor. It 
behooved that man’s sin should be punished, but 
had the punishment been inflicted on man, it 
must have been unending, and man would never 
have fulfilled the object and end of his creation. 
Thus would God’s honor have suffered. 

‘ ‘ How was the sin of man to be punished as 
God’s honor required, and man likewise restored 
to God’s favor, and the place of the angels 
supplied, as God’s honor also demanded? No 
created being could make the atonement, for no 
created being could offer to God anything beyond 
which he was already bound as a creature to 
offer. It remained, then, that the task must be 
undertaken by the God-Man, who alone could so 
atone for sin that man should be restored to 
favor. God did not inflict the punishment of sin 
on Christ, who voluntarily offered Himself as 
the Victim and Propitiation, and assumed human 
flesh in the womb of the undefiled Virgin Mary, 
and became the Redeemer of man, who through 
His sufferings and death alone could be restored 
to the favor of the Eternal Father.”* 

The countenance of Nemesius, which had been 
somewhat overshadowed at first by the gravity 
of his thoughts, grew clearer as the Pontiff, 
speaking impressively and distinctly, unfolded 
each link of his argument, which was not only 

* Dialogue “ Cur Deus Homo.” What St. Anselm here 
expresses had always, from its foundation, been the belief 
of the Church. 


408 


PALMS. 


grand and simple, but so divinely logical, that 
he threw himself at his feet, exclaiming: “Make 
me a Christian by the holy rite of Baptism, I 
beseech thee, sir, that I may not be another 
moment separated from Him who made a sacri- 
fice so great and perfect for me. Henceforth I 
am His even unto death!” 

The Pontiff granted the prayer of Nemesius, 
and without delay administered the holy rite, 
whose regenerating waters are of that ‘ ‘ River of 
Life” that St. John saw proceeding from the 
throne of God and the Lamb. From that mysti- 
cal moment the Holy Ghost entered into the 
cleansed tabernacle of the man’s soul, kindling 
therein the fire of charity, which consumed the 
dross of his nature, and by a miracle of grace 
made him indeed a new creature in Jesus Christ. 

As the days passed by, the neophyte, being in 
frequent intercourse with the Pontiff, quickly 
learned the needs of the persecuted Church, and 
how to relieve her suffering members, and con- 
sole where he could not save. Self was forgotten ; 
daily among the dwellers in the Catacombs, vis- 
iting in secret the poor abodes of the miserable 
in the byways and corners of the proud city of 
the Caesars, and out in the dilapidated huts on 
the beautiful Agro Romano, he distributed his 
substance to the hungry, the naked, the sick, 
and did not fail to visit the prisons, as directed 
by the Emperor, but in a far different spirit from 
the command. 


PALMS. 


409 


As his name was still a power, Nemesius had 
an opportunity to check, in a degree, much of 
the brutality to which the Christian captives 
were subjected, to comfort them by charging 
himself with the support of their helpless fam- 
ilies, among whom were little children and 
those whose age made them dependent — all 
left destitute by the imprisonment of their nat- 
ural protectors — and, by means of gold, he suc- 
ceeded, through a trusted agent, to secure the 
mutilated remains of many of the martyrs for 
secret burial, or when possible had them con- 
veyed into the* Catacombs for interment. His 
zeal was tireless, and such was his fervor that he 
was soon admitted to assist at the Divine Sacri- 
fice of the Altar; then, shortly after, followed 
the heavenly banquet of the Most Holy Euchar- 
ist, which filled his soul with divine sweetness, 
renewed his strength, and fanned his charity to 
a higher flame. 

Nemesius was ready to avow his faith: his old 
instincts as a soldier made him wish to do so; 
but the suffering Church needed his services; for, 
not yet suspected, and having free access to the 
prisons, he had, as already shown, countless op- 
portunities to comfort and aid those condemned 
to suffer for the faith. When admission was de- 
nied to all else, it was he who, with adoring love, 
bore upon his breast, wrapped in richest cloth of 
gold, the consecrated Hosts, to the condemned 
Christians, — the Heavenly Bread that would 


4io 


PALMS. 


“ refresh them by the torrent,” — their Holy 
Viaticum* in the sharp, bitter conflict they were 
to pass through to the embrace of Him for whose 
glory they were to suffer, and from whose nail- 
pierced hands they would receive eternal crowns 
and palms of rejoicing. 

The gloom of the prisons was of great assist- 
ance to him in his ministrations of mercy, even 
had the guards kept close watch on his move- 
ments, which they did not; for what was there 
to fear from the great commander of the Imperial 
Legion, who bore the Emperor’s seal, and was 
doubtless come on some secret errand ? 

The Pontiff Stephen wished to ordain him 
priest, but from this high honor his humility 
shrunk, and he was made deacon. Can we real- 
ize that this is indeed Nemesius, the proud com- 
mander, the laurel-crowned soldier, no longer in 
glittering armor, no more leading his legionaries 
under the Roman eagles to fresh conquests, no 
longer listening to an applauding Senate, and 
standing on the right of . the curule chair, the 
honored favorite of an Emperor, — this Christian 
in the garments of peace, whose chosen haunts 
are the Catacombs and the prisons, and whose 
sole occupation is that of a servant of the needy 
and afflicted. 


* Nemesius was not alone in the practice of the good works 
described; there were others besides himself and the wife of 
Tertullus, who were not suspected of being Christians, like- 
wise engaged. 


PALMS. 


411 

Yes! this is the noble patrician, the heroic 
military leader, the reserved, haughty pagan 
gentleman, whom we knew as Nemesius; but 
how changed! For in those days of tribulation 
when one embraced Christianity he came out in 
deed and in truth from among the wicked and 
the ungodly; the lines were drawn in blood, and 
they were as much divided and apart as they 
will be on that dread day when Christ comes to 
judge the world. 

In the two weeks since his conversion, how 
much had been crowded into the life of Neme- 
sius can be imagined from the brief outline 
given — so much and so real in its essence, that 
his past seemed like a dream, and it was only 
now that he truly began to live. Every day or 
two he went to his villa on the Aventine to em- 
brace his child, and, when having ascertained that 
all was well with her, to confer with Symphron- 
ius, who was faithfully executing the tasks as- 
signed him. 

All the idolatrous images had been removed 
from their niches, shrines, and pedestals, to the 
vaults under the villa, where they were destroyed, 
and afterwards cast into the limekiln. Some of 
them were of ancient Greek workmanship, and, 
as ideals of art, were unsurpassed and of price- 
less worth; but Nemesius knew that they were 
the conceptions and symbols of a false religion, 
and that their perfection was inspired by the be- 
lief that the deity represented by a master-hand 


412 


PALMS. 


in marble would inhabit the statue, if it were 
found worthy of the honor, and be worshipped 
through the ages. * 

Thus we see that the greatest and most death- 
less works of pagan as well as those of Christian 
art were inspired supematurally — the first by an 
idolatrous, the latter by a holy and divine faith. 

Admetus proved himself a doughty iconoclast 
in the work of destruction. To lop off a nose, 
shave off an ear, strike off one at a time the arms 
and legs of these gods of stone, who had received 
divine honors, and still smelt of the spices and 
Eastern gums that had smoked before them, 
and then, with a swinging blow of his axe and a 
hearty “Bravo!” knock the exquisite torso to 
splinters, afforded him the most intense satisfac- 
tion. “So perish,” he would say, as each one 
was demolished, ‘ ‘ so perish the demons, and all 
other enemies of the dear Christus!” 

Frequent and sweet had been the conferences 
between the noble matron Camilla and the fair 
young daughter of Nemesius, whose mind, il- 
lumined by the love of Him whose Holy Name 
her bosom enshrined, received the instructions 
with docile, unquestioning faith. To her sim- 
plicity and innocence, her swift progress in the 
supernatural life was incomprehensible, even 
had she dwelt upon the mystery; for the restful 
joy it brought her, and the love it deepened, 


* St. Augustine speaks of this in his “City of God. 


PALMS. 


413 


sufficed without knowledge concerning the oper- 
ations of grace, which maturer minds seek to 
understand. Was it not of such as she that 
Christ spake in these words: “Unless you be 
converted, and become as little children, you 
shall not enter into the Kingdom of Heaven ’ ’ ? 

Whenever Camilla paid her accustomed visit, 
Zilla did not wait to witness the loving welcome 
she received from Claudia; it was more than her 
sensitive, jealous affection could bear; but, leav- 
ing them together, she stole away silently, to 
brood over the evil days that had fallen upon 
her, and the fateful hour which she knew boded 
danger and death to the child of her heart. 

Presently strange visitors presented themselves 
at the villa gates, such as had never found ad- 
mission beyond the stately entrance before — visi- 
tors without “sandal or shoon,” whose vest- 
ments were soiled and tattered — men and women 
broken down with toil and poverty, some of 
them decrepit, and almost as helpless as the lit- 
tle children beside them ; all wearing a look of 
patient sorrow on their wan, hungry faces. 
They were not turned away, as would have been 
the case a short while before, but brought in, re- 
freshed and fed. Who were they? They were 
the gleanings of Nemesius in the bloody harvest- 
fields of the Cord; the destitute ones, left, by the 
martyrdom and persecution of their natural 
protectors, to the compassionate care of the faith- 
ful. 


414 


PAlvMS. 


Old Symphronius was in the secret, also Ad- 
metus, who guided them to the villa, and to a 
certain extent Claudia, who was told that they 
were the suffering children of the Christus, who 
loved them, and would receive all that was doue 
for their relief as done unto Himself. This was 
enough to send her like an angel among them, 
with sweet, pitying words, and such little minis- 
trations of kindness as their sorrowful plight 
suggested. She bathed the faces and bleeding 
feet of the little children, and fed them out of 
her own hands, winning them to smiles by her 
pretty ways; then made Zilla turn things upside- 
down in her own chests and closets in search of 
raiment to cover them, and what was lacking in 
fitness she at once ordered to be purchased. 

Zilla was nearly frantic with disgust and 
anger; she was sure that Claudia would get some 
deadly fever or other disease by contact with such 
a miserable set, and besought her to forbid their 
coming, or at least not let them come near the 
villa to contaminate the air, but be fed at a dis- 
tance by the slaves. That was the pagan way; 
but the child, even when she held a cup of cold 
water to the pale, trembling, parched lips of an 
aged person who was too far spent to lift it him- 
self, did it for the love and sake of the dear 
Christus, and found therein too much happiness 
to answer Zilla’ s stern insistence more seriously 
than to throw her arms around her neck, and 
with her own sweet laugh say: “Do not scold, 


PALMS. 


415 


beautiful mother! Do I not feed my doves, and 
sometimes Grillo, just for fun? Why, then, 
should I not feed these hungry ones, who have 
none to care for them? They are the children 
of One I love: how, then, can I turn them away 
empty?” 

Finding remonstrance useless, Zilla went to 
Symphronius, and gave him a very emphatic 
piece of her mind for his laxity of discipline, as 
guardian of the estate, in permitting beggars, 
who doubtless brought infection with them, to 
enter the gates, especially when he saw how 
Claudia was bewitched by them, so that she 
could not keep away while they remained. 
“Truly,” she added, “have we fallen upon 
strange and evil days! To be blind was happi- 
ness compared with what has followed sight. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I have orders to let our little lady have her 
will,” answered the old steward, looking up a 
moment from some long rows of figures he was 
working out. 

“I will speak to Nemesius himself. Men do 
not consider the harm that comes of over-indul- 
gence to the immature. It is something new, 
indeed, for a patrician child to be allowed to mix 
with such a rabble, ’ ’ she said, with flashing eyes. 

‘ 1 He will be here this evening, ’ ’ was all that 
Symphronius said; and she withdrew. 

True to her word, Zilla sought an opportunity 
to explain her grievance to Nemesius. He heard 
her patiently, knowing what good reason she 


PALMS. 


416 

had, from her standpoint, for all she urged, and 
understanding well that love for his child in- 
spired it; so, with a great pity in his heart, and 
a silent prayer for her conversion, he answered, 
briefly but kindly: 

“It is my wish and her happiness that these 
unfortunates should continue coming.” 

The poor woman made no response — unless 
the sigh that forced itself from her heart might 
be called one, — and, folding her pale hands on 
her bosom, her old gesture of submission, she 
left his presence. 

On every side her love for the child, who from 
its birth had been to her as of her own flesh and 
blood, was cast back upon her; a wall of separa- 
tion, as transparent as air but as impassable as 
adamant, had risen between them ; she felt that 
in all the strange things that had so lately hap- 
pened, and the many changes they had brought 
about, she was no longer necessary to the one 
only human being that she loved — and her proud, 
faithful heart was breaking. But she relaxed no 
tender service she could render; her vigilance 
was almost sleepless, lest the danger she dreaded 
might come without word or warning. And, 
because she loved to hold Claudia near her, and 
see her bright, beautiful face dimpled with smiles, 
she cut out and helped to make garments for her 
4 ‘ beggars ; ’ ’ and because — perhaps this was the 
primary reason — the child would be exposed to 
less danger of infection if the miserable wretches 


PALMS. 


417 


were clad in fresh, clean raiment, she redoubled 
her efforts to substitute such for the soiled tat- 
ters that in some cases scarcely covered their 
nakedness. 

In the meantime the “mill of the gods’’ had 
gone on grinding the fine wheat of the Eord; at 
the Temple of Mars, in the Flavian Amphi- 
theatre, at the Temple of the Barth, in the dun- 
geons outside the gates and elsewhere in and 
about Rome, the work went on, as it had been 
going on year after year, until more than a lus- 
trum had passed, without a sign that it was near 
the end. It was monotonous, and the spectacle 
of a martyrdom was too commonplace now to 
excite much curiosity or interest, except when 
something more extraordinary than usual at- 
tended it. Besides, the Roman people liked 
extremes; if they had horrors, they wanted an 
even balance of pleasure and amusement; and, 
somehow, it happened that just at this time there 
was more of the former and less of the latter 
than seemed to them either agreeable or neces- 
sary. 

Something was at hand, however, that would 
not only break the present monotony, but give 
Rome a laugh — under the breath, be it under- 
stood — at the expense of Valerian Imperator. It 
was rumored on a certain day that the Emperor 
was going to the Temple of Mars, to receive from 
Eaurence the Deacon — the same who had been 
in chains in the dungeons of Hippolytus ever 
14 


PALMS. 


418 

since his arrest, and had there exercised those 
powers attributed by the pagans to magic — the 
key of the Christian Treasury, which contained, 
it was asserted, an enormous amount of gold, 
silver and jewels. 

In his rich imperial robes, seated in his curule 
chair, surrounded by lie tors and guards, Valerian 
awaitdd his anticipated triumph ; for was not he 
the first of the Emperors who had been able to 
wrest their concealed treasures from the Chris- 
tians! And was it not a sign that their cause 
was weakening and near its end ? He was in the 
best of spirits, and conversed affably with certain 
of his satellites whom he had invited to attend 
him. 

Opposite to him was the catasta , raised by a 
few steps above the floor of the Prsetorium, upon 
which the criminal usually stood, in view of all 
present. The Procurator, in official robes, occu- 
pied his place; here were the consiliarii , there 
the notaries, ready to take down questions and 
depositions. On one side appeared lictors, the 
keen edge of the axe bound up with their fasces, 
turned outward; while against the wall a group 
of savage-looking men, naked to the waist, 
waited with implements of torture, ready at a 
word to spring to their bloody work. 

The Prsetorium wore the semblance of a hall 
of justice, but Valerian Imperator presided. 
There would be no formal trial; he was there to 
receive, from one prejudged by his own acts, the 


PALMS. 


419 


concealed treasures forfeited by his crimes to the 
State, and to deal as the laws of the Empire de- 
manded against conspirators and blasphemers of 
the gods; but for the sake of appearances it was 
well for the officials of the law to be present. 

Outside, a scene was progressing that baffles 
description. Rome seemed to have vomited 
forth all her beggars — halt, blind, diseased, — a 
hollow-eyed, want-stricken, tattered army of 
men, women, and children, that, despite the re- 
sistance of the guards, gathered around the 
Temple, pressing upon one another, and over- 
flowing the great portico and pillared vestibule. 
The hum of their voices, the angry orders of the 
soldiers, the sound of blows, followed by shrill 
outcries, reached the ears of Valerian, like the 
confused roar of a tumult, and a pallid hue stole 
over his bloated visage. Was there a revolt? — 
were assassins at hand, who would presently 
rush in and slay him where he sat? His flesh 
trembled, his brutal heart grew faint; but sud- 
denly there was silence, and he breathed more 
freely. 

At- that moment Laurence, accompanied by 
Hippolytus and surrounded by guards, was as- 
cending the Temple steps, and when about half 
way he turned for an instant, confronting the 
terrified assemblage below, and, lifting his 
manacled hand, made the Sign of Redemption, 
and breathed forth his blessing like a heavenly 
dew upon them ; then the guards, recovered from 


420 


PALMS. 


their surprise, more roughly than before urged 
his advance. 

Although under suspicion of sharing with his 
family and slaves the delusion arising from the 
singular events that had so recently occurred in 
the dungeons of his house, Hippolytus had not 
been interfered with, but still had the custody 
of Laurence, as it was believed that through his 
persuasions, the latter would be induced to give 
up the treasures he had in charge. This suppo- 
sition was confirmed by the fact that he had 
consented to yield his secret. 

Hippolytus was not yet openly a Christian. 
Although grace had touched his heart, and — like 
Festus — he was “almost persuaded,” so far, he 
had had no time to weigh the matter. And now 
what use Laurence expected to make of the mob 
that, with his co-operation, he had summoned 
to meet him on this 9th day of August, 258, he 
was at a loss to understand; but, supposing that 
these poor wretches were connected in some way 
with the question of the secret treasures, he 
gave the holy deacon his own way, thinking 
that, even should the means seem foolish, the 
result would prove satisfactory. Accordingly he 
whispered an order to the captain of the guards 
as the prisoner entered the vestibule, and those 
who had been driven back by blows a few mo- 
ments before were allowed to pour in, until all 
the available space in the Praetorium was filled. 

Valerian had been promptly informed of the 


PALMS. 


421 


harmlessness of the uproar that had so startled 
him, and quite regained his self-possession when 
he saw the Christian deacon standing on the ca- 
tasta , calmly awaiting his pleasure. The digni- 
fied, composed air of Laurence, his serene, fear- 
less countenance, in whose presence he secretly 
felt his own ignoble inferiority, stung the tyrant, 
who, however, resolved to control himself until 
the coveted treasures were in his possession; 
then — let the Furies dance, and Cerberus whet 
his fangs! 

u Thou knowest why thou art here ? Deliver 
up the key of thy treasury, and designate its 
location; then, if thou wilt cast a grain of in- 
cense in yonder brazier in honor of Jupiter, life 
and liberty are thine,” said Valerian, in tones 
which were intended to sound conciliatory, . but 
their coarse rumbling had quite the contrary 
effect. 

‘ ‘ Had I a thousand lives instead of one, I 
would not cast a grain of incense in honor of 
thy gods, which are of stone and metal, without 
sense or feeling,” was the clear, ringing answer, 
that penetrated every ear in the vast hall. ‘ ‘ I 
have but one life, and that belongs to Jesus 
Christ, the only True and Living God, whom I 
serve and adore, and for the love of whom I am 
ready to suffer death. As to the treasury of the 
Church, behold it, tyrant! in the poor and mis- 
erable congregated here and around this Temple, 
who have been brought hither by my summons, 


422 


PALMS. 


that thou mightest see and know that the Church 
of Christ hoards neither gold nor silver nor pre- 
cious things, but distributes all to the poor.” 

The rage of Valerian at an answer that demol- 
ished with one blow his avaricious schemes took 
from him the power of articulate speech, and for 
a moment or two he roared like an infuriated 
bull, while every heart quailed before him, not 
knowing what form his vengeance would take, 
or on how many it might fall — every heart ex- 
cept that of Laurence, which, uplifted above all 
tempests of human wrath, had a foretaste of 
those eternal consolations which would soon re- 
ward him in their complete fulness. 

At last from the chaos of the tyrant’s fury 
words shaped themselves. 

“Seize him, lictors, and scourge him — the liar! 
the deceiver! the blasphemer of the gods! And 
disperse yonder rabble! — hunt them down! tram- 
ple them in the dust!” he bellowed. 

While the “rabble,” weeping for the teacher 
who had led them into the way of salvation, and 
been their provider and consoler, were dispersed, 
and, with obedient fidelity, “trampled in the 
dust” — while the lictors were laying bare to his 
loinS the tender flesh of Laurence, Valerian sud- 
denly remembered that it was due to his own 
dignity to assume an indifferent and impartial 
air, as of a stern judge intent only on the pun- 
ishment of an offender against the State; for had 
he not been publicly duped, and would not all 


PALMS. 


423 


Rome make a jest and comedy of his discomfit- 
ure ? He knew the Roman spirit too well not 
to feel assured that its satirical wit would break 
out in epigram and lampoon at his expense ; that 
it would be a sweet nut for the teeth of every 
vagabond in the streets, and be laughed over 
equally in the low drinking-slums of the city, as 
(on the sly) even in the porticii of the academies 
and libraries. Aye! he knew the laugh was 
against him, and that there was no love for him 
to keep it back; but woe betide the audacious 
Christian who had humiliated him! 

Aye! woe indeed, so far as he had power over 
the body. With demoniacal malice he looked 
on, while the lictors with dexterous blows bruised 
the flesh of their unresisting victim with their 
rods — while the scorpion whips of the execu- 
tioners tore and mangled it, expecting, hoping 
every moment that he would cry out or moan 
with excess of pain. But this satisfaction was 
denied him ; for Raurence stood with folded arms 
and closed eyes, turning himself this way and 
that, as he was bidden; the edges of his keen suf- 
ferings dulled by the contemplation of Jesus in 
the Hall of Pilate, counting every blow endured 
for the love of Him precious beyond all price. 

Still more enraged by this heavenly compos- 
ure, which he looked on as defiance, but which 
the devils who instigated him understood, the 
cruel Bmperor now caused Raurence to be laid 
upon the rack, and hot plates of iron applied to 


424 


PALMS. 


his bleeding, quivering sides ; but the firmness of 
the saintly victim remained unshaken, his con- 
stancy unmoved, and no sound escaped his lips, 
except the holy name of Him for the sake of 
whom he suffered. 

A soldier named Romanus, who had been reg- 
ulating the tension of the rack, amazed at the 
heroic endurance of the tortured Christian, and 
touched with an emotion of pity by his suffer- 
ings, turned from his screws and pulleys to cast 
a glance upon him, when his astonished eyes be- 
held an angel anointing his mangled flesh with 
healing- balms.* And as he gazed upon the 
heavenly visitant — by all others unseen — the in- 
spirations of divine grace illuminated his mind. 
To loosen the handle of the rack, lift the sufferer 
from his bed of torture, throw himself on his 
knees at his side and beg for baptism, was the 
work of a moment; then, before the lookers-on 
could understand or interfere, he ran out, return- 
ing quickly with a copper vessel of water, with 
which Laurence, rejoicing in the midst of his 
tribulation, baptized him. 

Faith and courage now filled the soul of Ro- 
manus; he desired only to suffer the same tor- 
ments he had inflicted on Laurence ; and standing 
forth and raising his hand to secure attention, in 
a loud voice he declared himself a Christian, f 

* It is so recorded in the Acts of the martyrs. 

f All that is related of the martyrdom of St. Laurence, and 
of the conversion and martyrdom of the soldier Romanus, 
has been gleaned from the “Acts of St. Laurence.” 


PALMS. 


425 


“Scourge the cur within an inch of his life!” 
roared Valerian from his curule chair; “then 
may the furies of hell devour him ! ’ ’ 

Venting his rage on Romanus until wearied 
by his invincible constancy, the gentle Imperator 
wiped his frothing lips, refreshed himself with a 
draught of cooled wine, then ordered his new 
victim to be taken outside the gates and exe- 
cuted. And Romanus, who had consoled him- 
self through it all by repeating the holy name 
he had learned from the lips of Laurence, was 
led away, outside the Porta Salara, to his death, 
which, by faith, baptism, and the shedding of 
his blood for Christ, filled up the measure of his 
merits, and in a brief space won for him the 
crown and palm of martyrdom. 

By this time Valerian was fatigued, over- 
heated, and — hungry. The supper hour was ap- 
proaching, and his pampered, luxurious appetite 
craved its wonted indulgence. He would go to 
the Baths of Sallust, refresh himself, and return 
to finish the work so well begun. Having left 
his instructions with the officials, he went away 
with his attendants. 

The holy Deacon Laurence, without a sound 
spot in his flesh, was removed (still accom- 
panied by Hippolytus) to another apartment, 
which opened upon the grove of palms that sur- 
rounded the Temple of Mars. Here he was vis- 
ited and consoled by many of his friends, among 
them a priest sent by the Pontiff Stephen, from 


PALMS. 


426 

whom at an opportune moment he received the 
Eucharistic Bread — the Holy Viaticum, which 
left him nothing more to wish for on earth. 

Hippolytus no longer wavered. Drawn nearer 
and nearer to Laurence, whose noble virtues and 
sanctity of life while in his custody had already 
won the admiration of his honest heart, his con- 
version was confirmed by the glorious example 
of his sufferings. Divine love, like a fiery glow, 
animated his soul; life was nothing — he only 
wished to declare himself a Christian at what- 
ever cost. But he was restrained by a whisper 
from Laurence, who saw that his time had not 
yet come. 

Lower sank the sun towards the bright, rest- 
less sea; the filmy vapors that draped the sap- 
phire vault above, drifting and wavering in the 
soft air-currents, were tinted with palest hues of 
rose and purple; while an iridescent, tremulous 
golden shimmer, nowhere so bright as in Ro- 
man skies, pervaded space. The birds sang on 
the wing; there was music and laughter and the 
hum of glad voices in the air, and other signs 
telling that life was not all bitterness. 

Valerian Imperator had refreshed himself with 
a perfumed bath, put on fresh apparel of purple 
and fine linen, had his locks anointed with sweet 
unguents and crowned with laurel; then, hav- 
ing piously offered the customary libations to 
the gods, he surfeited himself with rich food, 
and drank his fill of the rich, mellow wines of 


PALMS. 


427 


Greece, uttering and listening to coarse, lewd 
jests in the intervals of feasting, until, feeling 
himself invigorated and in prime condition, he 
and his satellites went back to the Temple of 
Mars. 

As soon as he was seated, and found breath to 
speak, he summoned Laurence to his presence. 
The holy sufferer could not have moved his lac- 
erated, bruised body but for the supernatural 
strength divinely given, which enabled him to 
ascend the catasta once again, to confront his 
cruel judge with undaunted firmness; although 
the marble pallor of his countenance and the 
purple shadows around his eyes betrayed the 
physical anguish he endured. Hippolytus stood 
near, the shadow of a pillar concealing the tears 
which he sought not to check. 

“Has reason returned to thee? If so, cast aside 
the wickedness of magic, and tell us thy history,’’ 
hoarsely stammered Valerian, his brain heavy 
with drunken fumes. 

‘ ‘ I am a Spaniard by birth, educated at Rome 
in every holy and divine law,” was the calm 
reply. 

“Sacrifice, then, to the gods. If thou refusest, 
this night shall be spent in torturing thee,” 
roared the Emperor. 

“Ah! my night hath no darkness: everything 
shines in brightness,” responded the holy 
Deacon, with a smile irradiating his counte- 
nance. Heard he the heavenly antiphon: 


428 


PALMS. 


“Night shall be my light, 

But darkness shall not be dark to thee?” * 

‘‘Beat his sacrilegious mouth with stones!” 
raged Valerian. 

The executioner obeyed. The notaries scrib- 
bled faster, for the light was fading. Hippolytus 
drew his toga over his face. 

Now was at hand the crowning point of Vale- 
rian’s infernal malice — his “feast for the gods,” 
which he had boasted to Nemesius that he had 
in reserve; but for Laurence, the refining ordeal, 
the triumph, which, like a beacon light pointing 
heavenward, would shine through the night- 
shadows of time, until lost in the bright dawn of 
eternal day. 

The Emperor made a sign to the half-naked 
Numidian savages, who stood awaiting his 
orders; they left the hall, and brought a frame- 
work of iron about a foot high, with iron bars 
aross, upon which the unresisting victim was ex- 
tended and secured; they then bore him on his 
rough couch outside the Temple, and placed it 
over a pit of glowing coals, which cast a lurid 
glare upon the scene and the grim faces gathered 
around — falling with softer light through the 
shadows on a group of Christians, who stood 
among the spectators, waiting, praying and 
silently weeping until the end should come. 

Quickly the attendants had borne the curule 


* Psalm cxxxviii., n, 12. 


PALMS. 


429 


chair from the Praetorium, that the pious Vale- 
rian, in his zeal for the honor of the gods, might 
witness at his ease the agonies of the tortured 
Christian, who had blasphemously denied them 
and defied him. He saw his victim’s flesh, pen- 
etrated by the fierce heat, begin to shrivel and 
scorch. It was a brave show for his cruel eyes, 
but no triumph ; for no moan or murmur had yet 
been wrung from the dying lips: on the contrary, 
they had only declared his faith, his joy in suf- 
fering for Jesus Christ; and from his fiery couch 
he reproved and warned Valerian as the slow 
hours dragged on. 

“Hearn, impious tyrant!” he cried, “these 
coals are for me refreshing; but for thee they 
will burn to all eternity. . . .Thou, O Lord! 
knowest that when accused I have not denied, 
when questioned I have answered, when tortured 
I have given thanks. ’ ’ * 

The Numidians stirred the glowing mass of 
fire to such a heat that they themselves shrunk 
swiftly back. Again rose the martyr’s voice 
clear on the night, whose darkness was dispelled 
by the fire that consumed him, while a smile of 
supernal joy irradiated his countenance: “I thank 
Thee, O Jesus Christ! that Thou hast deigned to 
comfort me.” Slowly consuming, life still lin- 
gered in his tortured frame. The night waned: 
Laurence already saw the gleaming of a dawn 


*“Acts of St. Laurence . 1 


43 ° 


PALMS. 


which would usher in the endless day; and, while 
every nerve was stung with unspeakable agony, 
while heart and muscles melted in the fiery glow, 
and the marrow of his charred bones withered, 
he cried out: “I thank Thee, Lord Jesus! that I 
am found worthy to pass through Thy gates.” 

It was over; the passion and pain, the bitter- 
ness of the worst that could be done by human 
cruelty instigated by fiends — their malignity ag- 
gravated by the knowledge that to harm only the 
body was the limit of their power — all was past 
as a dream, and Laurence, like gold refined by 
the fire, entered with stainless garments into the 
Land of the Living, to receive the palm and 
crown he had so valiantly won. 

The satisfaction of Valerian was incomplete; 
he had compassed the death of Laurence, but 
had failed to reach and drag down the invinci- 
ble spirit which had soared above him to the 
end. He felt baffled and vengeful, and retired 
to his ivory, silk-draped couch to seek oblivion 
in a drunken sleep. 

The body of Laurence was not removed from 
his iron-grated, fiery couch when life became 
extinct, but was left to burn until the smoulder- 
ing coals turned to ashes; and when the dark 
hour just before dawn wrapped the scene in 
deeper shadows, the guards, either drunk or 
overcome with sleep, or perhaps gold, relaxed 
their vigilance, and there was no sound except 
the wind among the palms, that sounded like a 


PALMS. 


431 


low-breathed threnody. Two or three dark fig- 
ures now emerged cautiously from the shadows 
towards the sacred remains; with a quick move- 
ment, yet reverent and tender, wrapped them in 
rich stuffs, and glided away as noiselessly as they 
had come. It was Hippolytus and two other 
Christians, all disciples and friends of Eaurence, 
who bore away his charred body and concealed 
it in the Garden of Cyriaca, in a place they had 
prepared for it. 

In the three days that followed, Hippolytus 
set his affairs in order, liberated his slaves, and 
distributed his goods to the poor. Not too soon 
were his arrangements completed, for on the 
evening of the third day his house was sur- 
rounded by soldiers, he was arrested, and taken 
before the procurator, on the plea of being a 
magician, and of stealing the body of Eaurence. 
He admitted that he had done so, not as a magi- 
cian, but as a Christian. The pretence of a trial 
followed; he was tortured, cajoled; they appealed 
to his military pride, to his love for his family, 
and all the horrors that awaited them as well as 
himself, in case he should prove obstinate, were 
depicted to him ; and last of all came a message 
from the Emperor, offering him honors and 
riches if he would abandon his new delusion and 
return to the worship of the gods. But he re- 
jected all for Christ, and submitted to the most 
cruel tortures, counting ajl things as nothing for 
the sake of his Divine Master. 


432 


PALMS. 


Then his family, with the slaves who had been 
converted by the preaching of Laurence in the 
dungeons under his house — among them the old 
man who had been miraculously restored to sight 
by the holy Deacon, together with his son — were 
conducted outside the Via Tibertina, and put to 
death before his eyes. But his constancy re- 
mained unshaken; his fervor only increased; 
when, finding him impervious to every attempt 
made to seduce his faith, Valerian Imperatoi 
sentenced him to die, but not by any of the 
usual methods — this was to be something novel, 
inspiriting, and would delight Rome as a revival 
of something classic as well as tragic. 

On the appointed day, everything being pre- 
pared, with the Emperor and all Rome for spec- 
tators, two unbroken horses, with wild, fiery 
eyes, were led forth, their ears lying back, their 
red nostrils expanded, their veins and muscles 
strained like cords in their eagerness to break 
from the restraints of the stalwart Dacian sol- 
diers who held them in. Hippolytus was not 
appalled by what he saw before him; he had 
learned how to die, and joyfully yielded himself 
to the soldiers, who now seized and bound him 
between the horses, who — suddenly released by 
the Dacians, and given a stinging blow on their 
flunks, which was scarcely needed — sprang for- 
ward, plunged ar ' re h d to free themselves 
from their strange U^mbrance, then dashed 
madly away. But J^iore their wild race was 


PALMS. 


433 


over, the spirit of Hippolytus was reunited with 
that of Sixtus, Raurence, and the martyrs of his 
own household, who had so brief a time preceded 
him. 

Gods of Rome! have your eyes grown dim, 
your ears heavy? Have your magicians lost 
their vaunted skill ? Can they no longer work 
their mighty spells ? Have your augurs ceased 
to read the dreams and portents that shadow 
coming fate ? What strange lethargy has stolen 
over ye? Does the perpetual incense rising 
from your altars make ye drowsy, or does the 
crimson mist ascending from the blood of the 
holy ones slain in your honor veil from ye the 
near future and the coming destruction? Can 
ye not hear the tramping of the armed host 
marching down through the pleasant Etrurian 
vales towards the Tiber — a host led by a cross of 
flame in the heavens, under which in characters 
of fire is writ: u In this sign conquer?” 

Do ye not see, O gods! the great, splendid 
army of Maxentius — whose proud boast is that 
he has extinguished Christianity — waiting for 
the advance of the foe on the hither side of the 
Tiber, where it flows between Ratium and Etru- 
ria? Although the time is not quite five decades 
distant, * it is not yet too late — if ye are gods — 
to prepare your thunderbolts to destroy the in- 

>• 

* Valerian, 253-260. Con 306-337. Between Va- 

lerian and Constantine 46 

14* 


434 


PALMS. 


vader. But ye will not awaken, and the hostile 
armies meet — the one led by the Cross, the other 
by the Eagles which have never known defeat. 
The shock and clash of battle shake the earth 
and rend the air; Maxentius, wounded and 
pursued, sinks in his heavy armor under the 
swift-flowing Tiber; the Eagles fall and are 
trampled in t-he dust; the Cross triumphs, and 
advances to establish the throne of Christ on 
earth, in the seven-hilled city of the Caesars. 

But the vision does not arouse ye, great gods! 
Ye dream as if your thrones were founded on 
eternity, forgetting the Seer from the Euphrates, 
and his mysterious words on Mt. Phogor, in the 
land of Moab, seven hundred years before Rome 
was founded: “They shall come in galleys from 
Italy; they shall overcome the Assyrians, and 
shall waste the Hebrews: and at the last they 
themselves also shall perish.”* 


* Numbers, xxiv, 24. 


PALMS. 


435 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A LETTER FOR LAODICE — FABIAN BACK FROM 
UMBRIA — SEQUENCES. 

Nemesius’ letter to Laodice, which he con- 
fided to the old steward, was given to Admetus 
on the following morning, with strict injunctions 
to obey the instructions he received concerning 
it. As the latter dropped it into an ingeniously 
contrived pouch, concealed in the folds of his 
tunic, his brave, bright eyes gave assurance that 
he comprehended, and would be faithful to his 
trust; then, without question or delay, he left 
the villa. 

When the youth reached the imperial palace 
his business was roughly challenged by the of- 
ficial at the great portal. 

‘ ‘ I have a message for the Lady Laodice, to 
be delivered in person,” he answered, modestly. 

He was permitted to enter — for no one would 
venture to interfere with or obstruct the affairs 
of Laodice, were they great or small — and di- 
rected which way to go. After being stopped 
and questioned here and there by various officials 
of the palace, he reached the ante-room of her 
apartments, where he encountered the major- 
domo of her establishment, to whom he stated 


PALMS. 


436 

his errand. Not pleased at being interrupted in 
an angry discussion he was holding with a trades- 
man, about some overcharges he had detected in 
his accounts, he roughly bade the intrusive 
young stranger go in and wait. Yes, it was evi- 
dent to Admetus that he would have to wait; 
for, although persons were passing to and fro, 
they were too intent on their own errands even 
to notice his presence; and he leaned against a 
column to rest, and bide his time. 

Several female slaves, the personal attendants 
of their lady, now strayed in, and, meeting in a 
group a short distance from the lad, began to 
chatter and giggle, and throw saucy glances 
around in quest of admiration, as well as of any 
incidental thing that would serve to raise a laugh. 
They caught sight of Admetus, posed like a fair 
statue of Hylas against the column, all uncon- 
scious of his own classic beauty, and certainly 
without desire of attracting such attention; and 
one of them, a pretty young jade, with a signi- 
ficant wink at her companions, danced towards 
him, and asked what might be his business there 
at so early an hour. He told her the same thing 
he had told the others who had questioned him. 
She laughed good-naturedly, and, with a grim- 
ace, hoped he had taken his breakfast before 
leaving home, as her lady had not yet risen, and 
might not do so until noon. 

“I will wait,” he answered, quietly, hoping 
the girl would go away and leave him alone with 


PALMS. 


437 


his thoughts; but she was ripe for mischief, and 
beckoned her companions around her to amuse 
themselves at the expense of his simplicity. 

For a little while they thought they were hav- 
ing everything their own way, for his answers 
to their silly questions were literal and brief ; but, 
quickly penetrating their purpose, he turned the 
laugh against them by a few good-natured sar- 
casms, and a sharpness of humor that admon- 
ished them it would be best to leave him to him- 
self. But they -were loth to yield him the 
advantage, and tried their best by cajolery 
and banter to induce him to confide to them the 
message of which he was the bearer, declaring 
that their lady always expected such things to 
be delivered to her the moment her eyes were 
open; and if they were delayed, whoever was 
nearest felt the point of her stiletto, while the 
others were punished with the lash. 

But Admetus was unmoved; it might be as 
they said, but fidelity to duty was part of his re- 
ligion, and he continued to evade their curiosity, 
until, finding their attempt a failure, they left 
him. 

Thankful to be rid of the silly, shameless 
creatures, the youth found shelter in the em- 
brasure of one of the great windows, where the 
ruffled plumes of his spirit were smoothed by 
meditating on the holy things in which his soul 
delighted. His thoughts wandered away to the 
dim galleries of the Catacombs; he heard the 


PALMS. 


438 

sweet, solemn hymns floating through the dark- 
ness; he saw the star-like glimmer of tapers 
where some sacred function was being celebrated, 
and upon his ear rose and fell the plaintive 
chaunts of the Church as the tom, broken bodies 
of the martyrs were deposited like precious jewels 
in her treasure-house, embalmed by her tears, 
and glorified by her joy at their victory over 
death and hell. 

The soft touch of a hand upon his shoulder 
recalled the young Christian from his waking- 
dream, and he saw a slender, dark-visaged man, 
whose narrow, glittering eyes were fixed upon 
his face, standing before him. A sombre-colored 
mantle, the hood of which was drawn over his 
head, partially shading his countenance, fell 
from his shoulders; and so impassive did he 
look, that, until he spoke, Admetus doubted if it 
were he that had touched him. 

“My mistress, the Tady Laodice, is informed 
that thou hast a message for her. Thou wilt 
follow me to her presence,” he said, leading the 
way. 

Glad that a successful termination of his con- 
fidential errand was at hand, Admetus required 
no urging to follow his guide. From the ante- 
chamber they passed through several spacious 
communicating rooms, all richly furnished in 
the luxurious style then prevailing in Rome — 
each more superb than the last — until the one 
that terminated the suite was reached. Here 


PALMS. 


439 


the Cypriot — for it was he — paused, and blew a 
soft note on a small whistle that hung from his 
wrist. The heavy curtains were drawn back 
instantly, and a voice bade them enter. Day- 
light was excluded from this apartment by hang- 
ings rich with gold embroidery, and it was only 
by the radiance of the perfumed lamp, suspended 
by fine gilt chains from the ceiling, whose rays 
glimmered on the most salient points of the 
splendid appointments, that an idea could be 
formed of its magnificence. 

On a couch, over which was thrown lightly a 
coverlet of white silk, threaded and fringed with 
silver, reclined the beautiful Daodice. Her 
dark, indolent eyes, half veiled by their fringed 
lids, glanced carelessly at Admetus, as, under 
the guidance of the Cypriot, he advanced to- 
wards her. Raising herself on her elbow, she 
said, haughtily: 

‘ ‘ What message can such as thou have for me, 
that could not have been given without the in- 
trusion of thy presence?” 

U I have only obeyed orders, lady.” 

“Whose orders?” she flamed out. 

“A letter has been confided to me to deliver 
into no hands except those of the person to whom 
it is addressed,” he answered. 

“A letter!” she exclaimed; “show it, that I 
may see if it is for me.” 

“Tell me first who thou art, lady, that there 
may be no mistake,” was the firm reply. 


440 


PALMS. 


“Tell him,” she said to the Cypriot, while a 
thought and a hope as swift as light sent a 
quick tremor through her frame. 

The Cypriot announced her name and rank. 

“It is for thee, lady. Forgive me if I have 
been over-cautious,” said Admetus, as he placed 
the letter in her hand. 

Taodice made a quick sign to the Cypriot to 
withdraw, and thrust a gold coin into the hand 
of Admetus which the lad would have refused 
but for the thought of some half-starved chil- 
dren he knew of, whom it would afford him the 
means of relieving; for their sake he accepted it 
with a gesture of thanks, which she did not no- 
tice, and left her presence. 

When alone she tore open the letter, snapping 
the silk cords and scattering in fragments the 
waxen seal that secured it, so wildly eager was 
she to reach the contents, and realize the hope 
on which her very life seemed to hang. But 
when she read the brief lines that shattered her 
dream, that covered her womanly pride with hu- 
miliation, and pierced her heart with the keenest 
pangs of disappointment, she turned her face to 
the wall and wept bitterly, and in her despair 
grasped her stiletto with the intention of ending 
it all by one suicidal blow ; for how could she en- 
dure life after this relentless blow? 

However, having reached this passionate cli- 
max of emotion, a revulsion set in, and grief 
gave place to rage. She had placed herself at 


PALMS. 


441 


the feet of Nemesius, to be scorned and pitied, 
while he boasted of his love for another; to be 
insulted by his cold wishes for her happiness, 
and his assurance of forgetfulness. That is how 
she read his manly, honorable, delicate words; 
and the more she thought them over the more 
furious she grew, until her wild, passionate love 
was turned to deadly hate. 

Later in the day the Cypriot was summoned 
to her presence. Not a trace of the storm of pas- 
sion she had passed through was discernible ; her 
attire was more than usually rich and becoming, 
her countenance more haughty, and her wonder- 
ful beauty more regal. If there was pallor, it 
was concealed by artfully-applied cosmetics. 
Her most costly jewels glittered over her person, 
and rare perfumes floated around her. She, with 
some other ladies of rank, had been invited to 
the imperial table that evening, to sup with two 
foreign princes who had just arrived in Rome, 
and she resolved to appear at her fairest, and 
show no trace of the eclipse that had darkened 
her hopes. 

The Cypriot slave entered and stood before 
her, his head bowed, his serpent-like eyes cast 
down, his dark, slender hands folded under his 
wide sleeves, waiting, yet intently alert. She 
spoke to him in a low voice, and if her instruc- 
tions were brief, they were also emphatic; then 
she emptied gold in his palm as an earnest of 
future rewards, and not as a bribe to be faithful 


442 


PALMS. 


to her behests; for Laodice knew the measure of 
his fidelity, or imagined she did, and would 
have trusted her life to him. She dismissed him, 
and once more at her bidding he started, like a 
sleuth-hound, on the track of the noble Neme- 
sius. 

Fabian was still in Umbria when Eaurence 
and Hippolytus won their crowns and palms by 
sufferings so cruel that even Rome shuddered 
and sickened at the spectacle. He was enjoying, 
through all his beauty-loving, sensuous nature, 
the quiet solitudes and balmy fragrance of the 
wild, forest-clad hills, where no sound or rumor 
of the discordant passions of men and their con- 
flicts could reach him, until, having regained 
the mental poise so rudely shaken by the tragic 
fate of Evaristus, he decided to return home. 
Fate and the Furies, he thought, having done 
their worst, he would from henceforth face the 
sunshine, and leave the ghosts of the past to ob- 
livion. He little dreamed of what lay before 
him, and how near it was. 

So one day Fabian walked into his palace as 
if he had left it only an hour before, refreshed 
himself with a bath, took his prandial meal, 
drank a cup of wine, and stretched himself upon 
the pillows of his couch, where he slept until 
late in the afternoon. When he awoke, fully 
recovered from the fatigue of his journey, he 
ordered his horse to ride to the villa on the Av- 
entine, where he hoped to find Nemesius, from 


PALMS. 


443 


whom he would hear all that was worth know- 
ing, of what had been going on in the Roman 
world during his absence; and a softer expres- 
sion stole over his handsome face, as he thought 
of seeing Claudia, who held a deeper place in his 
affections than he himself knew. 

He had a new pet for his little friend, which 
he had purchased one day out on the hills from 
some hunters, who had brought it from the 
other side of the Apennines, and were on their 
way to their homes in the valley. It was a 
species of beautiful little antelope,* soft and 
furry, with great, mild eyes, and slender legs. 
When the hunters killed its mother, it was too 
young to stand alone, and they had borne it 
along in their arms, almost humanizing it by 
their care ; so that when they were lucky enough 
to meet Fabian, it was very tame, which fact 
increased its value. He gave them their price, 
and confided the little creature to the care of the 
peasant-farmer, under whose thatched roof he 
sometimes slept, and who for a generous gratuity 
agreed to deliver it safely in Rome, whither he 
was preparing to go with his olives and sun- 
dried figs and honey-combs, — a long way to carry 
his products, but he got a better price for them 
there than at home. 

The peasant faithfully fulfilled his trust, and 
Fabian was well satisfied on his return to find 


* Known to us as gazelle. 


444 


PALMS. 


the pretty, graceful creature arrived, and in good 
condition. He anticipated Claudia’s delight in 
the possession of such a gentle pet, which she 
could fondle and love, and her amusement when 
he would relate all that he had treasured up — 
facts mixed with fable — for her entertainment; 
for he counted no stretch of the imagination or 
poetic license too great, if it won a laugh from 
her. He thought of her as still blind, and that 
it was his chief mission upon earth to make her 
happy, notwithstanding the cruel decrees of 
Fate. 

Fabian was full of pleasant thoughts when he 
got in sight of the great bronze gates of the villa, 
but his attention was suddenly arrested by the 
sight of quite a number of miserable-looking 
beings who had just issued from the avenue, 
followed by Admetus, with a basket on his arm, 
evidently intent on some errand. Hearing the 
clatter of hoofs on the stony road, the youth 
looked up in pleased recognition of the noble 
gentleman, who had always a kind word for him 
whenever they met. He would have gone on 
his way, but Fabian drew rein, saying: 

“Aha! is it thou, my choragus! Tell me, if 
thou canst, the meaning of yonder miserable 
procession. ’ ’ 

“The times are very hard for the poor, sir, 
and there are many in Rome who are starving, 
and some of them come here for alms,” replied 
Admetus. 


PALMS. 


445 


‘ ‘ It would be more merciful to throw the poor 
wretches into the Tiber, and so end their miser- 
able existence ; but never fear — I will do them no 
mischief,” he said, laughingly, as he noticed the 
quick shadow that fell over the youth’s face. 
“I spoke in their interests, not my own; for 
life, my choragus , is not worth much even to 
the most fortunate. Are all well at the villa?” 

Answering in the affirmative, Admetus would 
have passed on had not Fabian tossed him some 
silver, saying: “For thy poor. ” With a whispered 
blessing on the generous pagan donor, he stooped 
to gather it up, and by the time he had secured 
the last coin, he was alone, and Fabian was 
already at the other end of the broad avenue. 

When Fabian dismounted, a slave led away 
his horse; he crossed the portico and went into 
the Atrium, hoping to find Claudia there, as it 
was her favorite spot within doors; but all was 
silent, and only the beautiful lights and golden 
shadows dancing through the vines over the 
mosaic floor greeted him. He heard a footstep; 
it was one of the household slaves who had seen 
him enter, and come to know his pleasure. 
“The little lady is in the gardens somewhere,” 
she said, in reply to his question as to the where- 
abouts of Claudia. 

“As I might have known, had I not been 
stupid,” he thought, as he turned to go and 
seek her. He hastened through the fragrant 
alleys down towards the old Grotto of Silenus, 


PALMS. 


446 

expecting to find her and Zilla at the fountain, 
weaving fresh wreaths for the Penates . But 
another spectacle met his astonished eyes: he 
saw a number of pale-faced, scantily-clothed 
little children, some of them leaning over the 
low rim of the fountain, splashing the water 
with their hands, while others rolled lazily on 
the violet-sprinkled grass, happy in the sweet 
odors and the sunlit beauty of all things around 
them. 

Fabian stood bewildered by tiie sight, and be- 
gan to think he must be under a spell of some 
sort. What could this mean? A swarm of beg- 
gars at the gate, and here, in the most private 
part of the gardens, reserved exclusively for the 
use of the family and their guests, infantile pau- 
pers of the rabble class, apparently as much at 
home as if everything belonged to them ! How 
could he know that these little creatures were 
the orphans of those who had suffered for Christ, 
whom Claudia — not understanding all — had 
taken under her especial care, and made her 
daily companions? Poor, friendless and sick, 
she knew them to be the “little ones” of Him 
she loved, and this was sufficient to enlist her 
sympathies and endear them to her, and make 
her joyful in her ministrations to them. 

Claudia was near the grotto, training up some 
vines over a trellis that a recent storm had dis- 
placed, concealed from observation herself, but 
able to see all around her through the green net- 


PALMS. 


447 


work. She heard footsteps, and glancing out, 
she saw a tall, handsome stranger approaching, 
who stopped to gaze curiously at the children, 
and then cast his eyes around as if in search of 
something else. She was there alone and un- 
protected, and a tremor of dismay paled her face ; 
but perhaps he would pass on and take no notice. 
But instead of passing on, Fabian, who knew 
every spot she loved, came straight towards her 
as she stood mounted on a moss-grown stump, 
holding up the fragrant vines. Seeing that dis- 
covery was inevitable, she dropped the vines and 
stood revealed, an image of loveliness against the 
dark foliage of the background. 

“Have I found thee at last, my pretty dryad?” 
he exclaimed, in his pleasant, laughing way. 

A flush overspread her face, and as she looked 
gravely and steadily at him, a strange, puzzled 
expression came into her eyes; but she did not 
move, she only whispered a prayer in her heart 
for protection. 

“Tet me assist thee, dear child; give me thy 
hand. What! shrinking back from me! How 
have I offended thee, fair little lady ? ” he asked, 
amazed. 

“Thy voice sounds like Fabian’s — but — ” she 
began, in a low, tremulous voice. 

“I am Fabian. What spell has come over 
thee not to know that it is I ! ” he exclaimed, 
astonished. / 

‘ ‘ I know the voice of Fabian, but his face I 
never saw. I was blind — ” 


448 


PALMS. 


‘ 1 Was blind ! ” he cried. 

“Yes: I was blind from my birth, and if thou 
art truly Fabian, forgive me for not knowing 
thee when my eyes for the first time behold thy 
face ! Thy voice is the voice I know so well. ’ * 

1 ‘ I am Fabian, I call all the gods to witness, 
and none other — and am beside myself with joy! 
What! have the gods been at last propitious and 
given thee sight ? I will build a new temple in 
their honor! Oh, my beautiful one! it is the 
most joyous thing I ever heard of. Tet me look 
into thy eyes! How they sparkle! how they 
drink in the light with a flash like wine! I am 
in a devout humor with the gods, and will never 
doubt them again!” exclaimed Fabian, in tones 
of exalted emotion. 

“The gods did not give me sight, Fabian,” 
she answered, gently. 

“How then — what great physician healed 
thee ? ” he asked. 

“Jesus Christ gave sight to my eyes; all at 
once, as the holy water of baptism was poured 
on my head, the blindness and darkness fled,” 
she answered, her voice full of sweetness, her 
eyes radiant with faith. 

A shock that chilled his blood passed through 
Fabian; he turned sick and faint, and dared not 
trust himself to speak. Pagan philosophy of- 
fered no shield to avert a blow like this; its feet 
were of clay, which crumbled before his eyes, 
leaving him for the moment bereft of strength. 


PALMS. 


449 


The child’s blind eyes had been opened by one 
of those startling miracles so often wrought by 
the thaumaturgic skill of the Christian priests, 
and it was evident that she had fallen under the 
spell of their delusions. With this conviction 
there arose instantly and vividly before him the 
frightful results that were almost certain to 
follow. • 

“And. thy father, my child?” he at last found 
voice to ask. 

“Oh, Fabian! hast thou not heard? He is a 
Christian!” she replied, her countenance glow- 
ing with happiness. 

“I am but just back from the wilds of Um- 
bria,” he said, quietly. 

This was the last thing that Fabian would 
have thought of, had any presentiments of evil 
been haunting his mind. He remembered his 
long conversation with Nemesius relating to 
the ancient and curious predictions of an ex- 
pected One, who was expected to appear, re- 
vive the glories of the Golden Age, and make 
mankind like unto the gods, and his scornful in- 
credulity; it was only a few brief days ago, and 
it seemed incredible that so sudden a transfor- 
mation could have taken place. Nemesius a 
Christian! Rather would he have heard of his 
death; rather a thousand times would he have 
found the beautiful child, standing there in her 
fearless innocence before him, dead and beyond 
the reach of all harm. 


15 


45 ° 


PALMS. 


Fabian felt as if be bad been away a hundred 
years, instead of a fortnight; and had he only 
known of these dreadful changes in time, he 
would not have returned to Rome, but hied away 
to some corner of the earth where it would be 
impossible for the news of how it all ended to 
reach him ; for well he knew that in times like 
these a man so distinguished as Nemesius could 
not become a Christian with the least hope of 
escaping discovery, and death attended by cruel- 
ties too barbarous to think of. Nor could it be 
supposed that his child, whose blindness had 
made her an object of tender sympathy and com- 
miseration in Rome, should suddenly receive 
her sight without its presently being known. 

Should the impending war with Persia soon 
break out, then there was a hope; for Nemesius 
— his apostasy unsuspected — could lead his legion 
away to do battle under the Eagles for the de- 
fence and glory of the Empire, as many Chris- 
tian soldiers had done in times past, while he 
would find a safe retreat for the child; but, alas! 
how fatal would be delay! — for her misfortune 
was too well known to the Emperor, and all 
who had ever seen or served her, for such a won- 
der as that which had occurred to be long con- 
cealed. 

Fabian’s mind was torn by contending emo- 
tions — not that he cared for the change in its 
religious aspect, but because he dreaded the con- 
sequences for these two who were so near to his 


PALMS. 


451 


heart. He would not disturb the serene happi- 
ness of the beautiful child by question or argu- 
ment; he would restrain himself until he could 
see Nemesius, to lay before him the peril in 
which they both stood, and suggest measures by 
which they might escape the fate that threatened 
them. 

It had only taken a few moments for these 
tumultuous thoughts to sweep through Fabian’s 
mind, but they left him shaken to the centre of 
his being, yet outwardly calm. At last he said, 
gently : 

“And how does the world look to thee, fair 
child?” 

“Oh, Fabian! I have not words to say how 
beautiful it all appears to me; and when I think 
of Him who made it, my heart almost bursts 
with love and gladness,” replied Claudia, while 
the long, white-blossomed sprays she had again 
gathered up to weave in the trellis dropped from 
her hands. 

“And I — how do I look to thee, sweet one? 
tell me, if it will not wound my vanity too 
much, ’ ’ he said, trying to speak in the old way. 

“Thy face is strange to me, Fabian,” she an- 
swered, while a delicate glow suffused her coun- 
tenance, “and sad; but thy voice is the same I 
always loved to hear. By-and-by I shall be used 
to thy face, and love it, too. ’ ’ 

“How is Grillo?” he asked, pleasantly. 

“Grillo is very well; and, now that he knows 


452 


PALMS. 


me, follows me, and sometimes lays his head 
upon my shoulder, and fans me with his long 
ears, ’ ’ she said, with a little laugh. 

“Grillo has the wisdom of a sage: he makes 
the best of the situation, and neither pines for 
thistles, or risks his prosperity by unreasonable 
freaks. Bravo! for the king of the donkeys, ” 
said Fabian, laughing; but his words had a co- 
vert and bitter significance. “I thought of 
thee every day, my little cousin, while I was up 
yonder among the hills, and have brought thee 
a pet that will rival poor Grillo in thy affections 
— a gentle, graceful little antelope from Grillo’ s 
country, perhaps his cousin; but I see so many 
strange companions around thee,” he said, wav- 
ing his hand towards the pale-faced children 
near the fountain, 1 ‘ that I fear he will not find 
favor with thee. Tell me who they are and 
whence; for they are so unexpected and out of 
place that it seems they might have been rained 
down, like frogs, out of the clouds. ’ ’ 

u They are the little ones of the dear Christus; 
they had none to care for them, Fabian, and 
were sick and hungry, and I am allowed to keep 
them at the villa; for they had no homes of their 
own, and now they are getting strong and merry. 
Oh! it is a great favor to have them,” replied 
the child, in low, tender accents; “for He loves 
them, and it makes me glad to serve them for 
His sake. ’ ’ 

“I hope thou wilt love the little antelope, 


PALMS. 


453 


then, for my sake; it is a pretty creature, with 
eyes as soft and bright as thine, and diminutive 
enough to be carried about in thy arms; and, 
better still, it doesn’t laugh like the blast of a 
trumpet, as Grillo does,” said Fabian, veiling 
the bitter pain of his heart under an assumption 
of the old gay manner. He would ask no ques- 
tion that would seem to be a recognition of the 
astonishing changes that had taken place in his 
absence, but, as we see, put them aside as child- 
ish fancies unworthy of notice, although he 
gauged the gravity of the situation to its bitter 
depths. 

“Thank thee, dear Fabian, for thy kind 
thought of me, and I will love the little creature 
for thy sake; I love Grillo and my doves, but 
there’s room enough for thy pretty stranger,” 
she answered, with a bright glance. ‘ ‘ But come, 
let us go and find Symphronius that he may 
order thy favorite dainties and wines. ’ ’ 

1 1 1 cannot accept thy hospitality to-day, little 
lady. I will see Symphronius a moment, to 
leave a message with him, then hasten away to 
an engagement in Rome; meanwhile remain 
where thou art to finish the task I interrupted, 
and be happy with thy frogs,” he said, laugh- 
ingly, as he nodded towards the children, and 
walked swiftly away. 

The old steward, oppressed by the heat, had 
just left his desk and gone to a window for a 
breath of fresh air. The very first object that 


454 


PALMS. 


met his sight was Fabian, coming with hasty 
steps towards his office. “It is the beginning 
of sorrows,” thought he, while his heart gave a 
great thump; and he made the blessed Sign of 
the Cross upon his breast, commending himself 
to the protection of God. How could he tell 
Fabian of the great events that had taken place 
while he was absent? How find courage to an- 
nounce that which, he feared, would disrupt the 
friendship and love of a lifetime ? He advanced 
to welcome him, however, as he entered, with 
his usual kind, courteous greeting, but, as Sym- 
phronius remarked, without the genial smile 
and jesting words that had heretofore always 
characterized his salutation. It was a great re- 
lief to him, therefore, when he discovered that 
Fabian’s only object was to inquire where he 
should be most likely to find Nemesius in the 
city, and when he might be expected at the villa; 
but the old steward could give him no certain 
information on either point. 

“My master,” he said, “has obtained leave 
of absence from his military duties, and is occu- 
pied with his private affairs, which, having been 
neglected for years, require his attention; but if 
the illustrious signor will leave a letter I will 
send it by his messenger, who comes daily with 
words to our little lady. ’ ’ 

“Christianity, secrecy and mystery, always 
hand in hand,” thought Fabian, as he seated 
himself to write to Nemesius, urging an inter- 


PALMS. 


455 


view wherever he might appoint; then, having 
secured the letter in the usual way with twisted 
threads of silk and a seal, he arose to go. No: 
he would take no refreshment; he was not feel- 
ing well, he told Symphronius, who wished to 
spread a dainty repast for him, and went away 
with the heaviest heart he had ever known. 

Had not the persecution been raging, Fabian’s 
latitudinarian principles in matters of religion 
would have enabled him to regard the conver- 
sion to Christianity of a man of such distinction 
as Nemesius as an eccentricity which he could 
have made a jest of; he would only have thought 
he had lowered his patrician rank, and possibly 
damaged his career, by giving up old traditions 
and the religion established by the State, for 
new-fangled doctrines and delusions; otherwise, 
it would not have affected their friendship a sin- 
gle iota, at least so far as he was concerned. 

Fabian had no veneration for the gods, but he 
thought that an established system of belief was 
conducive to individual and social order and 
public prosperity. Like the fasces of the lictors, 
which bound together resisted all effort to break 
them, but disunited could be singly snapped 
asunder by a child, he saw strength in unity, 
and looked upon innovations as disintegrating 
and destructive; but the persecution he thought 
worse than the innovations it attacked and sought 
to exterminate. And now the only friend he 
loved on earth had chosen this time to commit 


PALMS. 


456 

the supreme folly which could only be expiated 
by the sacrifice of his own life and that of his 
child. He was nearly distracted under the calm 
exterior which by a strong effort of his will he 
compelled himself to wear. 

When at last Fabian and Nemesius met at the 
palace of the former, the soul of each was tried to 
the very limits of endurance by what passed be- 
tween them. Knowing Nemesius as we do, it 
is easy to imagine the courage, firmness and con- 
stancy with which he declared his faith, and re- 
lated the circumstnnees that led to his conversion, 
and the warning, pleading arguments he used to 
persuade Fabian to cast aside his idolatrous 
errors, and accept the truth as it is in Jesus Christ. 
It is easy also to imagine Fabian’s worldly, plaus- 
ible, sophistical arguments in reply; his logic, 
sharpened by satire; his passionate philippics 
against Christianity, which, all summed up, meant 
that Nemesius was guilty of the most culpable 
foolishness in risking honors, fortune, life, and 
the life of his child, for a creed which the wisest 
philosophers of the times declared to be false and 
delusive. 

He did not spare Nemesius, but his tears’ flowed 
even when his words were the most cutting and 
severe; for, like a skilful surgeon, he knew that 
to heal he must first wound. But Nemesius hav- 
ing counted all earthly things as dross and no- 
thingness in comparison with the higher and 
eternal good for which he had relinquished them, 


PALMS. 


457 


the words of his friend were as ‘ ‘ tinkling cym- 
bals, ’ ’ and his arguments like water melting in 
the sand. It was only Fabian’s pain that 
touched him, for he knew that it was the out- 
come of his great, unselfish love for him. 

The interview had been peculiarly painful to 
both, for the tie between the two men was closer 
than that of brotherhood. A glorious and assured 
recompense awarded the sacrifice of Nemesius; 
but for Fabian, who looked not beyond 
earthly limits, there was only despair. The 
lamp above them gleamed low; and the dawn, 
now stealing faintly through the open windows, 
revealed on their pale countenances traces of the 
crucial pain they had endured — one marked by 
divine faith, the other lined by the passionate 
sorrow of defeat. 

“At last,” said Fabian, breaking silence, “and 
while there is yet time, take the child and fly to 
some remote region for safety. My pleasure-gal- 
ley lies at Ostia, and everything can be got in 
readiness before the sun sets to-day.” 

“I am a soldier, Fabian, and have always fol- 
lowed the Roman Eagles where they led, with- 
out question or thought of the perils to be faced ; 
and now that I am a soldier of Jesus Christ, with 
His Cross for my standard, shall I do less? No: 
I will not fly,” answered Nemesius. 

“And the child — thy lovely Claudia! Why 
subject her to the same cruel fate so eagerly 
courted by thee? Oh, Nemesius! unfeeling pa- 


PALMS. 


458 

rent! How canst thou bear the thought of her 
being killed by wild beasts, or cast into the 
flames? God! the very thought of it maddens 
me!” exclaimed Fabian, his face ghastly white. 

Nemesius folded his hands and bowed his head; 
for here was the human, vulnerable part through 
which his nature might be wounded unto death. 

He did not speak for some moments: he was 
silently offering the dread anguish that wrung 
his soul with generous love to Him through 
whose Passion and Death redemption had come 
to mankind. 

U A few short pangs, and then eternal life! — I 
can ask nothing more precious for my little one, 
should He in whom we trust will it so, ’ ’ he said 
at last. “My Fabian, let us not speak of this 
again. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ My life-long friendship for thee, my love for 
her, forbids silence. Listen, Nemesius: I must 
speak! Since thou art so set on thy own de- 
struction, confide Claudia to me. I love her as 
tenderly as if she were my own offspring. I will 
take her away to a home in one of the pleasant 
lands I know of, and all that I possess shall be 
hers; and she shall be guarded as the most pre- 
cious treasure of my life,” urged Fabian. 

“Ah! my Fabian, how thou rendest my heart! 
By consenting to thy generous wish I should risk 
her eternal salvation. Better she should be safe 
in heaven than live without faith on earth; for 
she is of tender age, and with no one to encour- 


PAI*MS. 


459 


age and guide her, tempted and warped through 
her affections, there would be danger of her losing 
the inestimable graces that are now hers. These 
grown weak, faith would gradually expire in her 
soul. No: I dare not consent,” said Nemesius, 
in a voice that betrayed his emotion. 

‘ ‘ Hast thou gone so mad that thou wilt even 
take no precautions for thy safety? Thou canst 
not long escape; thy position and fame are too 
distinguished for that which thou hast done to 
escape detection,” exclaimed Fabian. 

“I am in the hands and at the holy will of 
Him who created and redeemed me. I have no 
wish, no hope, no plan that reaches beyond that, ’ ’ 
he said, in grave tones, which had in them an 
exultant ring. ‘ ‘ Remember, Fabian, ’ ’ he added, 
after a momentary pause, “that it was from thy 
lips I first heard the wonderful story of the di- 
vine Christus, which sunk deeper than I then 
knew, and led me to consider, even while I 
scoffed, the possibilities of its truth. He is in- 
deed the long-expected Messiah of the world-old 
prophecies, the very Son of God — the Saviour 
who has in our nature overthrown the adversary 
of our souls, and won from God that clemency 
for fallen man which He refused to the revolted 
angels. Thy passion for curious investigation 
has led thee unwittingly to a dim knowledge of 
the truth, wherein thou art privileged above 
many; this knowledge supplemented by grace — 
which only awaits the action of thy own will 


PALMS. 


460 

and desire to receive it — will open to thee the 
inexhaustible treasury of faith and holiness, 
with all its fulness and perfection of knowledge, 
whose divine heights, without it, no mortal can 
ever reach. Be persuaded, then, to throw aside 
all human motives, all vain philosophy, and seek 
only the truth as it is in Jesus Christ.” 

The words of Nemesius were rendered more 
impressive by a sudden golden glow which at 
this moment the newly-risen sun flashed through 
a window, crowning his noble head as with a 
halo. 

“My Achates!” said Fabian, with a wan 
effort to smile in his old gay, winning way; “ I 
am not prepared either to discuss or accept mys- 
ticisms which have brought into my Life its first 
real bitterness. The appearance of the Christus, 
coincident with the ancient predictions and the 
phenomenal enthusiasms resulting therefrom, I 
regard only as singular facts in the world’s his- 
tory — mental disturbances which seem to lie be- 
yond the knowledge of natural laws. The only 
thing I am entirely sure of at this moment is my 
friendship for thee, my Nemesius, which no 
mortal power can shake.” 

He arose, and threw his arm around the shoul- 
ders of Nemesius, while tears dimmed his eyes. 

“ And yet, my Fabian, thou art willing to let 
death dissolve a friendship as dear to me as to 
thyself, by rejecting the only condition which 
would ensure its eternal continuance,” said Ne- 


PALMS. 


461 

mesius, with deep emotion, as he embraced him. 
“Now, farewell! I have an assurance that fills 
me with hope for thee. ’ ’ 

And so they parted, Nemesius going away 
towards the Via Latina, while Fabian flung him- 
self upon his couch to seek repose after the agi- 
tations of the night, firmly convinced that he 
might as well by a wave of his hand expect to 
remove grim Soracte from its foundations, as to 
endeavor to shake the constancy of Nemesius in 
what was evidently to him a vital and eternal 
principle. 

Fabian was convinced that indifference to be- 
liefs and dogmas, as taught by his favorite Pyr- 
rho, was not a safeguard to tranquillity and hap- 
piness; far better for him, he now thought, had 
he adopted the stern philosophy of Zeno, which 
would have raised him above the passions and 
emotions of humanity. But vain regrets were 
only weakness, and there was nothing left him 
to do but to fight his battle out as best he could, 
without taking the world into his secret. 

On the following day he prepared to go his 
customary rounds — to the Forum, the Baths, 
look in, perhaps, at the Theatre, should any- 
thing new be going on, and make a visit or two. 
Never before had Fabian been so fastidious in 
the choice of his apparel, the draping of his toga, 
the splendor of the few jewels he wore, and the 
quality of the perfume sprinkled in his hair, 
curling in short, silky rings all over his statu- 


PALMS. 


462 

esque head. Dismissing his servant, he made a 
critical survey of himself in his Egyptian mir- 
ror, and was annoyed to discover that he was 
unusually pale, and that there were dark shad- 
ows under his eyes — traces of the passionate emo- 
tion he had suffered. 

“I will only have to smile the more, and be 
careful that my smiles do not become grins; then, 
if comment is made, I shall have to draw on my 
fever of a lustrum ago as the cause,” said Fa- 
bian, turning away with a short, bitter laugh, 
which ended in a sigh by the time he stepped 
into his chariot. 

With the sensations of one not yet fully recov- 
ered from a horrible nightmare, he drove slowly 
along the sloping avenue of the Palatine, that 
led direct to the Forum Romanum, an edifice 
which, neither spacious nor magnificent, lent its 
name to all the space lying between the Capito- 
line and the Palatine Hills. It was surrounded 
on every side by temples, conspicuous among 
which were the Temple of Janus and that of 
Vesta; palaces, basilicas, halls of justice, and 
public offices, and adorned with the statues of 
illustrious Romans, triumphal arches, and the 
trophies of conquered nations. A place of public 
assembly, and an important centre of varied in- 
terests, all the news, political, sensational and 
social, rumors native and foreign, and the latest 
whispers of prominent events, were borne there 
from every quarter by those who resorted to it 


PALMS. 


463 

for business or pleasure. The gravest transac- 
tions before the judicial tribunals, affecting life, 
honor, and estate, the most splendid efforts of 
oratory from the Rostra on exciting topics, and 
the chance that every one would here meet every 
one they knew, drew the Roman world of all 
classes, variously attracted, to the Forum. 

The glory of the Roman sun now bathed the 
marble porticoes, pillars, arches, and carved 
facades in such effulgence that the noble grace 
of every outline was visible, while the golden 
glamour veiled all discolorations made by time 
and weather, until only a dazzling mass of tri- 
umphant art greeted the eye wherever it turned; 
but it was lost on Fabian, so preoccupied was 
he, until when near the Temple of the Vestals, 
he was recalled to himself by finding his further 
progress checked by a crowd who waited per 
force, until a procession which slowly emerged 
from the massive gateway should have passed 011 
its way. A curtained litter, borne carefully by 
eight slaves, now appeared, followed by numer- 
ous attendants, whose countenances were sad and 
downcast. They moved slowly, and the street 
throngs, silent and respectful, made way, for 
they knew that a sick Vestal was being con- 
veyed to the palace of some matron of high rank, 
to be nursed back to health, or, if Fate so de- 
creed, to die.* The litter passed; the living tide 


* As was the custom. 


464 


PALMS. 


that had parted and paused a moment, again 
mingled together, and with its dull roar of hu- 
man voices, rumbling of wheels, and the hoof- 
beats of horses, surged on as before. 

The delay had only been momentary; a few 
paces farther on, and Fabian had thrown the 
reins to one of his attendant slaves, sprang from 
his chariot, mounted the broad marble steps, and 
was sauntering leisurely through one of the lofty, 
pillared halls in the interior of the Forum, where 
he met a number of his acquaintances, singly 
and in groups, who saluted and welcomed him 
back to Rome with genial effusion. Bach one 
had something to tell of how things, social and 
political, had been going on while he was away 
among the Umbrian Hills. 

Among other on dits , he heard how an auda- 
cious Christian, named Laurence, had made 
amusement for Rome by outwitting the Emperor, 
who caused him to be roasted alive for . his te- 
merity ; that Hippolytus, a man of distinction and 
wealth, well-known and of high repute, had — 
incredible as it might seem — been seduced by 
the magic arts of this same Laurence, and pub- 
licly declared his belief in the Christus, while he 
contemned the gods; that his family and house- 
hold, sharing his delusion, were put to death 
before his eyes — a well-merited punishment, — 
after which he was strapped between two wild 
horses, who tore him asunder, limb by limb, in 
their mad race. 


PALMS. 


465 

How they gabbled and laughed as they talked 
it all over, as if it had been a new comedy or a 
gladiatorial contest, one supplying details omit- 
ted by the other, sparing no cruel horror, until 
Fabian had the whole story complete! They re- 
garded both affairs as parts of a fine spectacular 
tragedy; they thought such examples necessary 
to strike terror to the minds of those wily con- 
spirators known as Christians; while only one — 
under his breath — asserted that Rome did not 
require the littleness and abasement of such sav- 
agery to sustain her grandeur and power, — sav- 
agery that not only brought reproach on her 
vaunted civilization, but retarded progress. 

Fabian would have been better pleased had he 
heard nothing about it; his mind was too sore 
wuth dread for the two beings on earth he most 
loved not to feel every word touch his wound 
like fire; but he could not avoid it without at- 
tracting comment or seeming abruptly rude ; he 
could only evade the subject by irrelevant re- 
marks, and sarcastic criticisms more than usually 
pungent, which produced an impression that the 
whole matter was of such supreme indifference 
to him as not to be worthy of a second thought; 
as it would have been, in fact, but for the men- 
tal application he made of it in regard to Neme- 
sius and Claudia, whose morrow held the rack, 
the lions, the flame. 

Pleading engagements, Fabian left the com- 
pany with his usual easy grace, and drove from 
15* 


PALMS. 


466 

palace to palace, to call on certain noble Roman 
ladies, to whom his visits were always as white 
marks on their calendar, and who afterwards de- 
clared that never had their amiable guest been 
so brilliant and winning, so gay and delightful, 
as on this day. Conscious of this himself, he 
felt satisfied that he was wearing his mask 
bravely, and that his smiles were successful 
counterfeits. 

As he was leaving the palace where he had 
made his last call, followed by the admiring 
glances of lustrous eyes, a rose in his hand — the 
gift of the most beautiful woman in Rome — and 
was stepping across the marble-flagged footway 
to his chariot, he was stopped by an acquain- 
tence, who declared that he was the man of all 
others he most wished to see; for there was no 
one in the whole world who would so keenly ap- 
preciate that which he had in store for him; add- 
ing that he had been to his palace in search of 
him, and just as he was about giving up in de- 
spair, here he was. 

‘ 4 Has the Sphinx revealed her secret ? It can 
surely be nothing less, my Tullius, ” answered 
Fabian, laughing. 

4 4 Something far better ! That secret, whenever 
it comes forth, will be a grim one, depend on it; 
so I, for one, am satisfied to let her keep it hid- 
den in her stony breast forever. But come: I 
am impatient for thee to enjoy a pleasure pro- 
vided by the gods, ’ ’ insisted the other. 


PALMS. 


467 


u If thou wilt excuse me, Tullius, I am really 
not in a mood for anything spectacular to-day, 
especially if there’s a smell of blood in it; for I 
am having some gentle reminders of my old 
fever — ’ ’ 

“No, by Apollo! It is whispered that there 
will be no more fights between the Christians 
and the lions; for it is said there are signs that 
the heroism displayed by the former is demoral- 
izing the people. As to thy quartan-ague, or 
whatever else it may be, the spectacle I allude to 
will break its evil spell by its novelty; for noth- 
ing exactly like it has ever been seen in Rome 
before. I learn this from the best authority. It 
is said to be something so idyllic as to remind 
one of a Greek fable. It is brought hither from 
Spain, and everyone is wild to see it. It comes 
on as an inter-act between the chariot-races and 
the Greek athletic contests, and after it is over 
we can go to the Baths of Sallust, to feast and 
amuse ourselves,” rattled Tullius. 

“Thou hast at least convinced me that I have 
yet a spice of curiosity left, and I yield myself 
to thy guidance. My chariot seats two; get in, 
and we’ll soon reach — where?” said Fabian, 
really glad to accept anything that promised to 
divert his mind from its ever-present pain. 

“The Flavian Amphitheatre — did I not tell 
thee? If we start at once, we’ll be just in time 
to select seats, ’ ’ said Tullius, well pleased to have 
secured his object. 


PALMS. 


468 

A quick drive brought them to the Flavian, 
which was surrounded by the usual mixed as- 
semblage of all classes — Senators, civic officials, 
priests, soldiers, freedmen, women, children, and 
slaves — all pressing their way towards the en- 
trances assigned to each grade; while the air re- 
sounded with a tumult of voices, laughing, 
cheering, swearing, and shouting; the crowd 
momentarily increased by the human tide that 
poured down the Via Sacra. 

Fabian and Tullius edged their way skilfully 
through the throng, procured tickets for num- 
bered seats, and pushed on, up the crowded steps 
to the interior circle of the vast Amphitheatre, * 
where without difficulty they found their desig- 
nated places. 

While the vast circumference of the immense 
edifice is rapidly filling, from the podium to its 
very cornice, a glance at some of its most strik- 
ing features will give a faint idea of the magnifi- 
cent effect of the whole. The wall surrounding 
the arena to protect the audience from the wild 
beasts is fifteen feet high, pierced with numerous 
doors, faced with rare marbles and surmounted by 
a trellis-work of brass, behind which runs a 
marble terrace, a portion of which is occupied by 
a double row of chairs appropriated to the exclu- 
sive use of those who are, or have been, Praetors, 


* The Flavian Amphitheatre had a capacity for seating 
eighty-seven thousand people, with standing room for 
twenty-two thousand more. 


PALMS. 


469 

Consuls, iEdiles, Curules and Censors. Distant 
from these, in his special seat of honor, is the 
Flamen Dialis — the high priest of Jupiter — in 
the robes belonging to his ancient dignity, his 
brow crowned with the fleece which borders his 
cap that is finished on top by a point of olive 
wood. Some of the minor flamines attend him, 
forming a striking group. Further on, and dis- 
tant from its surroundings, is the marble gallery 
— encrusted with marvels of sculpture and rich 
in all its appointments — assigned to the Vestal 
Virgins, who, white-robed and veiled, have just 
taken their seats, and look like a snow-drift 
amidst the varied colors visible everywhere 
around them. Apart from these, the rest of the 
immense circle, which is divided at regular in- 
tervals by superb pillars of polished marble that 
support the tier above, and the vomitorce , which, 
like the spokes of a wheel, run from the podium 
up to the cornice and afford easy access to the 
various ranges of seats, is occupied by the privi- 
leged classes, distinguished foreigners and patri- 
cians. The tier above, where the marble seats 
are cushioned, belongs to Senators and the 
Equestrian orders, and illustrious Romans. The 
tier above is assigned to the populus , the third to 
the lower classes; above them is a colonnade for 
women, who are admitted when there are to be 
no contests between naked gladiators. The ple- 
beians occupy the middle seats, 110 longer wearing 
black, a custom abrogated by one of the Caesars, 


470 


PALMS. 


whose eye was offended by the sombreness of 
their apparel. Chattering, laughing, good-na- 
tured crowds stream up the vomitorce , eager to 
be seated before the show begins. 

The spectacle is magnificent! Tens of thou- 
sands of human faces tier above tier, masses of 
brilliant coloring, the flash of polished buckles, 
groups of distinguished dignitaries in rich robes 
and jeweled insignia, gay young patricians at- 
tired in all the splendor of the latest fashions, 
and everywhere — for this occasion — beautiful 
dark-eyed women sparkling with gems and toss- 
ing their peacock fans, while they chatted gayly 
with brothers, lovers and friends who might be 
in attendance, while overhead, slightly swaying 
and undulating in the summer breeze, the vela- 
rium intervened to shade the audience from the 
heat and glare of the sun. The disc-like arena 
was smoothly covered with saw-dust and coarse 
sand, except here and there where a closely- 
grated door appeared, through which low thun- 
derous growls or savage bellowings ascended, re- 
minding one of the lions and other savage beasts 
confined in the vaults beneath. 

kike a field of grain suddenly swayed by a 
passing wind, this vast assembly was at once 
moved by a simultaneous impulse — every eye 
was directed towards the superb gallery opposite 
the main entrance; a shout arose, re-echoed by 
the enormous walls and beating against the vela- 
rium until every rope was strained: “Ave Im- 


PALMS. 


471 


perator!” as Valerian, attended by lictors, cour- 
tiers and the Imperial Guard, entered and took 
his seat on the cubiculum or elevated chair he 
always occupied by right of his supreme rank. 
There was a blare of trumpets, then as if by a 
spell silence and expectancy fell upon the people. 

Suddenly one of the doors in the wall of the 
arena was thrown open, the portcullis was swiftly 
raised, and a magnificent black bull, with white 
polished horns, wild, glaring eyes, massive head 
and neck, and thin, sinewy hips, bounded into 
the arena with a mad roar; dazzled by the light, 
the space, and the thousands of human eyes bent 
upon him, he stood dazed and motionless, but 
only for an instant; for the same door which had 
given him admittance was thrown open, and 
there dashed through a cacciatore , fancifully 
dressed, splendidly mounted, with spear at rest, 
from which fluttered a scarlet flag. He caracoled 
jauntily around the arena, displaying fine tricks 
of horsemanship, and the grace and beauty of 
his steed, which was light of limb, sinewy, 
bright-eyed, aler f , with waving, glossy mane and 
tail. * 

By this time the bull, having recovered from 
his dull astonishment, became more alert, fol- 
lowing with sullen eyes the horse and his rider, 
who waved and fluttered his scarlet flag as he 
dashed in narrowing circles around him. Sud- 

* Bull-fights were known in Rome in the days of Juvenal. 


472 


PALMS. 


denly and almost at the same moment the horse 
felt a prick of the spur, and sprang forward, as 
the bull, goaded by the point of the cacciatore' s 
spear, and nearly blinded by the quick slaps of 
the scarlet flag across his eves, was roused to a 
vengeful and ungovernable fury. 

Then ensued, on the part of the bull, a series 
of plunges, attacks, and a hurling of himself 
like a thunderbolt on his adversary; and on the 
part of the cacciatore , a series of dexterous feints 
and hairbreadth escapes, due to his splendid 
equestrian skill. He was greeted with wild 
plaudits from the excitable spectators, until at 
last, when it seemed impossible that he could 
much longer escape being tossed and gored to 
death by his frenzied adversary, he made a sharp, 
sudden turn, and, before the infuriated, clumsy 
beast could check the impetus of his mad pursuit 
and double on him, reached the door by which 
he had entered; the portcullis was swiftly raised, 
and, waving his plumed cap towards the Em- 
peror’s gallery, he leaped through, and the bars 
fell with a clang in the very face of his enemy. 

The bull, now wrought up to the desired pitch 
of brutal rage, did not stand on the order of his 
attack when another mounted cacciatore , attired 
and equipped like the first, leaped into the arena; 
but he was either more reckless or not so skilful 
an equestrian, or perhaps the bull’s instincts 
were quickened by the magnificent fury he was 
in, for at last he made a successful lunge; his 


PALMS. 


473 


sharp horns pierced and ripped the belly of the 
horse, who fell with his rider. In another in- 
stant, above the cloud of sawdust and sand 
raised by the fray, a fluttering heap of scarlet 
and yellow was flung in the air, and dropped 
with a heavy thud to the ground. Then sounded 
the plaudits of the people long and loud for the 
bull, who was ramping around the arena, tossing 
the sand and sawdust up in yellow clouds, his 
savage bellowing resounding louder than the 
roaring of the human throats that lifted their 
bravos in his honor. 

Was it over? Was this all? If so, it was a 
commonplace and small affair to those present, 
who had seen hundreds of savage beasts from 
the jungle and the desert fighting together there 
in the arena ; who had witnessed the gladiatorial 
contests, and beheld Christians torn to death by 
lions and tigers. No, it was not all: a postern 
is opened; the wild plaudits are hushed, and a 
woman’s voice, singularly clear and sweet, was 
heard like flute-notes on the air; it grew more 
distinct and near, and a beautiful, dark-eyed 
maid, ,in the peasant dress of Hispania, her arms 
and feet bare, her black, silky hair bound by a 
silver fillet around her head, falling loose over her 
shoulders, appeared on the scene, still singing a 
wild lay of her native valley. 

The bull was standing, head down, lashing 
the air with his tail — not spent, but waiting, his 
fury whetted for another victim — when the girl’s 


474 


PALMS. 


sweet voice reached him. He listened, slowly 
lifted his great head, raised his bloodshot eyes, 
saw her advancing towards him; the angry, 
vibrant tail dropped ; she drew nearer and nearer, 
and stretching out her arm threw it across his 
neck, while with the other hand she smoothed 
his grizzled forehead and throbbing nostrils, still 
singing her wild peasant song. She laid her 
cheek on his dusty, sullen face, wiped the bloody 
froth from his mouth, and with gentle insistence 
led him away as one leads a lamb. 

There was a sentiment in this unexpected 
finale of the spectacle which somehow took the 
popular heart by storm ; a roar of applause filled 
the vast walls like a burst of thunder; even the 
Emperor signified his approval by sending some 
gold coins to the peasant maid of Hispania. 
And while they are venting their emotions it 
may be stated that her wild, sweet strain was not 
an incantation, nor her mastery over the great 
brute due to magic arts, as many thought, but to 
the power of human kindness ; for she had 
trained and cared for him since he was a wean- 
ling, sheltered and fed him in winter, led him 
to green pastures and by pleasant waters in sum- 
mer, hung garlands of wild flowers on his horns, 
and been his good comrade and friend all the 
time, until he obeyed only her, and in his fero- 
cious moods could be quelled by no other voice 
than hers. And so the two, bound together by 
this strange friendship, had been persuaded by 


PALMS. 


475 


certain purveyors of novelties for the theatres in 
Rome, who were traveling in Hispania, to return 
thither with them. * 

“It was not an inter-act after all, though 
rather pretty for a change. Shall we wait to see 
the chariot-races?” said Tullius, politely sup- 
pressing a yawn. 

“I must beg thee to excuse me,” replied Fa- 
bian. “I have seen enough to-day to satisfy 
me. Another spectacle would obliterate, I fear, 
the really pleasant fancies left by the charming 
one we have just witnessed. Ah! I see that 
bright eyes and fair hands are already inviting 
thee. Farewell, and many thanks for the pleasant 
hour. ’ ’ 

The spectacle had been a living symbolism to 
Fabian, and he wondered if the ferocious, sel- 
fish, brutal world might not be better led by 
human kindness than by force and the shedding 
of blood; if yet from some distant realm a pure, 
simple, virginal soul might not appear, chanting 
hymns of peace to subdue to sweet submissive- 
ness the ungovernable, tyrannical, and cruel 
passions that dominated mankind. Had Rome 
sought by other means than the rack, the sword, 
the flame, to win the Christians from their illu- 
sive dementia to a proper sense of what they 
owed the gods and the Empire, how different 


* An incident like the one described was witnessed in 
Spain by a traveler of our times. 


PALMS. 


476 

might have been the results! He cared nothing 
for the Christians; the word had but one mean- 
ing for him now — Nemesius and Claudia; but 
barbarity of every sort was supremely disgusting 
to his refined nature. 

Ah! could Fabian only have believed it, the 
virginal soul had already appeared ; the hymn of 
good-will and peace had echoed through the 
midnight skies of Judea two hundred and fifty- 
eight years before, to herald the birth of the 
Prince of Peace; and the only ears that had 
hearkened to the strain, and followed whitherso- 
ever it led, were the despised class known as 
Christians. Would he ever know? 

The daily current of life glided on smoothly 
at the villa on the Aventine, although there 
were imperceptible changes which did not ap- 
pear on the surface. The soft-eyed little antelope, 
which Fabian brought from the Umbrian hills 
to Claudia, had become perfectly docile to her 
tender care — followed her when she walked, gam- 
bolled around her, or lay contentedly at her feet 
when she rested, and reposed on its silken 
cushion by her couch when she slept. Its gen- 
tleness, its grace, and the tender look of its large, 
mild eyes, gave her pleasure, and the natural 
kindness she had for all dumb creatures ripened 
in this instance to affection. Through all created 
things, animate and inanimate, her heart beat 
responsive to Him who created them, without 
laborious effort to link cause and effect together, 


PALMS. 


477 


but with a great, innocent, spontaneous love, 
which flowed back to Him from whom, she now 
comprehended, all things that were had pro- 
ceeded. 

There was at this time a slight change in 
Zilla, almost imperceptible at first, but becoming 
more apparent. When first brought face to face 
with Christianity in the persons of those she 
loved, her strong soul was shaken; she felt that 
all she had ever cherished as most sacred, was 
being outraged and disrupted by an incredible 
delusion; but after the first shock had passed, 
her intelligent mind vaguely suggested to her to 
endeavor to discover the cause and reason of the 
potent spell which the new religion exercised 
over not only the simple and ignorant, but the 
learned, the distinguished — patricians, heroes, 
and those most noted for their refinement and 
cultivation. So now when Camilla came to the 
villa, instead of going away, as she had done 
heretofore, she remained under some pretence or 
other, and in silence listened to her instructions 
and her conversation with Claudia. 

Camilla, who had been from the first attracted 
by Zilla’ s statuesque beauty and unstudied dig- 
nity, and knowing something of her history and 
her long, faithful service, hoping to win her to 
Christ, always behaved graciously to her, and 
latterly in a spirit of quiet friendliness, which 
Zilla found it impossible to resist. But Camilla’s 
vigorous words, which, not being addressed to 


478 


PALMS. 


her, she could not with propriety answer, some- 
times made her wince ; as one day, almost with- 
out relevancy, the noble lady exclaimed, with 
fine enthusiasm: “Yes: this holy faith taught 
by Jesus Christ, this only true religion, has alone ' 
been able to manifest that the gods of the nations 
are most impure beings, who desire to be thought 
gods, availing themselves of the names of certain 
defunct souls, or the appearance of mundape- 
creatures, and with proud impurity rejoicing in 
things most base and infamous as though in 
divine honors, and envying human souls their 
conversion to the true God!* Such are the de- 
ceitful deities we once worshipped.” 

The words graved themselves on the mind of 
the silent woman, as the speaker hoped they 
would; but she made no sign. 

Every evening Claudia nestled in her arms 
when the day was spent, and poured out in her 
artless way the fulness of her innocent heart, her 
love for the dear Christus, and all that Camilla 
had told her of His wonderful life, from His 
nativity to Calvary, from Calvary to heaven, in 
all of which was blended the sinless Virgin 
Mother — Advocata nostra — Her joys, Her sor- 
rows, which no other sorrows had ever equalled. 
She told her of the angels, the fair ministering 
spirits of God, whom He appointed to guard the 
souls of His creatures from evil; and she never 


*St. Augustine: “City of God . 1 


PALMS. 


479 


wearied of repeating over and over again, with 
every particular, the miracle of the healing of 
her blind eyes. 

Zilla took it all to heart through her love ; her 
child had been blind from her birth, but could 
now see — a fact which no logic nor sophistry could 
subvert or change; but she was far from being 
prepared to assign the result to the Christus as a 
divine power. And when the possibility flashed 
across her mind, like a flicker of lightning over 
a darkened sky, that all claimed by the Chris- 
tians might indeed be true, she flung the thought 
from her as she would have done a serpent; for 
with it came a vision of torture and death for 
the child of her heart, which, between her love 
and dread, nearly drove her to despair. 

It was one of Claudia’s greatest pleasures to go 
every morning to speak to the poor, who came 
daily to the villa to receive alms. Followed by 
Zilla, with a light basket containing white bread 
and wine, she always carried in her own hands 
delicacies to distribute to the sick and aged. 
While passing among them one day like a min- 
istering angel, the child heard two women talk- 
ing to each other of friends and relatives of their 
own who had suffered for Christ; they spoke of 
Laurence and Hippolytus, and their glorious tes- 
timony in the face of torture and death. A 
shudder passed through her tender frame; it was 
the first she had heard of the cruel persecution; 
she did not quite understand, and refrained from 


PALMS. 


480 

questioning the women, who, she saw, were 
weeping, but resolved to ask her father and 
Camilla, and learn the truth from them. Zilla 
had also heard fragments of the same kind of 
talk, and with a wrathful, breaking heart she 
insisted on Claudia’s coming away. 

Among other pensioners, there had appeared 
one day a lame, bowed, white-bearded man; his 
manner was humble and unobtrusive, his words 
few. He was a Christian, he said, and his limbs 
had been broken on the rack. No one doubted 
him, and he received the alms given him, with a 
blessing on the hand that bestowed it. He 
gleaned from his companions in misfortune, and 
without asking a question, information of the 
beautiful, golden-haired child, whom he saw so 
liberally dispensing gifts and sweet, cheering 
words to all, and how she had been born blind, 
but had miraculously received her sight through 
the prayers of the holy Pope Stephen. 

The next time he appeared, he thanked all for 
their kindness, and said he would not come 
again, as he was going South to relatives who 
had offered to provide for him. Of their little 
they gave him part, and promised their prayers 
for his safety and eternal consolation; and he 
went away followed by their blessings. 

The lame beggar was the Cypriot, the spy of 
Taodice. 


PALMS. 


481 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

IN THE SHADOW OF THE PALMS. 

In the soft splendor of a summer evening-, mus- 
ical with the flute-notes of birds, the play of 
fountains, and the whispering of leaves, while 
the sun flashed a line of gold along the crests of 
the distant mountains, tinting the drifting clouds 
and sparkling on lofty temple and ruined fane 
alike, Nemesius told his little daughter of those 
heroic souls who, refusing to deny Christ, gave 
their lives in testimony of their faith. He had 
for some days debated with himself if it would 
not be best to do so, but now she had of her own 
accord asked an explanation of what she had ac- 
cidently overheard; and, although it gave him a 
bitter pang to acquaint her with the cruel reali- 
ties of the persecution which they both might 
soon be called upon to share, he did not shrink 
from the task. She was only a child, whose life, 
except for the blindness that for a time clouded 
it, had been like a summer day; she had never 
beheld suffering, or felt pain, or even heard of 
violence, cruelty, or bloodshed; and he feared that 
without some preparation her heart might faint 
with terror, and the weakness of childhood give 
way to the horror that threatened her, should the 
test come. 

16 


482 


PALMS. 


Seated close beside him, her head against his 
shoulder, and her hands clasped over his arm, she 
listened, looking far away into the golden glow, 
a sweet, wondering, half-expectant look upon her 
face. 

“Does it make thee afraid, dearest?” he asked, 
finding she did not speak. 

“I am not afraid — oh! no: I was thinking. It 
may frighten me, my father, if those cruel ones 
try to make me deny the dear Christus; but I 
will never, never do it — even if they kill me! 
Then He will know that I love Him more than 
my own life,” she answered, with simple fervor. 

‘ ‘ And thou wilt behold the glory of His coun- 
tenance; He will crown thee with everlasting 
rejoicing, nnd with His Holy Mother and the 
angelic hosts, and the noble army of martyrs and 
virgins, thou wilt live in His presence, and drink 
of the well-spring of His love forever, forever!” 
said Nemesius, whose countenance shone as if 
transfigured by the vision that filled his mind, 
and triumphed over the pain and outcry of 
nature. 

She did not see his face — her head still rested 
against his shoulder, and her eyes still gazed out 
into the golden glow — but his words thrilled her 
heart with silent ecstacy, as love, winged by faith, 
bore her thoughts upward to a contemplation of 
the inexpressible joys he portrayed. Could it be 
that with her eyes, to which He had given sight, 
she would indeed behold the divine Christus, His 


PALMS. 


483 


Virgin Mother, the holy angels, and all the re- 
splendent hosts of heaven, and that He from His 
great throne would welcome a child like her? 
Would His Holy Mother, in her shining robes, 
and crowned with stars, lead her to Him, * and 
say: “Behold, my Son, the child to whom Thou 
gavest sight, who has loved Thee, and not 
feared to die for Thee?” And then would He 
bless her, and let her kiss the hem of His gar- 
ment, and place her where she could forever see 
His face ? 

1 1 Is there no other way to Him except through 
death?” she presently asked. 

“We only follow Him, my little one; for He 
trod the same dread road before us, that by His 
Passion and Cross His children may triumph 
over the sting and bitterness of death, and in His 
adorable presence find their eternal reward, ’ ’ said 
Nemesius. 

1 ‘ Then I will welcome death if it lead to Him. 
But thou, my father! what wilt thou do without 
thy little maid?” she asked, standing in her 
childish beauty before him, with the last rays of 
the sun tangled in the meshes of her golden 
hair, making her look already crowned. 

“Do? Follow quickly. Our separation will 
be but for a moment,” he answered, with a 
strange, glad smile. 

Claudia nestled closer to him in full content, 

* ‘ ‘ And show unto us the blessed Fruit of thy womb, 
Jesus.” 


PALMS. 


484 

her innocent heart overflowing with thoughts of 
that Celestial City, whose light is not of the sun, 
but of the Lamb who dwelleth in the midst 
thereof— thoughts that spanned like a rainbow 
the dark, cloud-veiled stream, whose bitter, 
soundless waters flow between it and this mortal 
life. 

At this moment a clear, sweet voice floated 
like an echo through the silence, rising and fall- 
ing in sweet inflections, coming nearer and 
nearer, until the words it chanted became dis- 
tinguishable. 

“Our soul hath been delivered,” it sang, “as 
a sparrow, out of the snare of the fowlers. The 
snare is brokerr, and we are delivered.” * Then, 
the singer passing on, his voice drifted into in- 
distinctness and silence. 

It was Admetus, going from his work among 
the flower-beds. It was his way to refresh his 
soul by singing scraps of the sacred songs he 
heard at the functions in the chapels of the Cata- 
combs. Like a bird, he could not help singing: 
it was the voice of his heart, full to overflowing 
with the joyful mysteries of faith. 

‘ ‘ That will be our song by and by, my little 
maid,” said Nemesius, laying his hand upon her 
head, thankful that she was prepared for the 
hour of trial, and assured that her brave child- 
heart would not lose courage in its ordeal of 


* Psalm cxxiii., 7. 


PALMS. 


485 

pain; but even he could not fathom the depths 
of its Christ-given love and faith, and he prayed 
God to send His angel to strengthen and comfort 
her when the time came. 

Day had melted into purple twilight, through 
which the great, tremulous stars softly glowed; 
nightingales fluted their lays to the silvery 
chimes of the fountains, and from the pines on 
the hill, and the orange blossoms and sweet 
olives in the garden, the wind brought spicy 
odors to embalm the night. Nemesius and his 
child; their minds filled with thoughts too sweet 
and solemn for speech, walked silently back to 
the villa. After supper, loving words were ex- 
changed and farewells spoken ; then, blessing her 
with fervor, he hastened back to Rome, to bear 
the Holy Viaticum to certain Christians con- 
demned to die on the morrow ; to distribute alms 
to some newcomers, who had taken refuge in 
the Catacombs and were without food, and be 
ready to serve the Pontiff at the altar in the 
morning. Symphronius had instructions how to 
warn him, should danger threaten in his absence. 

When Nemesius left the Mamertine, the night 
was far advanced, and darkened by clouds which 
threatened a storm. Threading his way in the 
gloom through narrow cross streets to shorten 
the distance, he was conscious that he was being 
followed. Several times recently he had imagined 
that he heard footsteps behind him, but, think- 
ing it might have been accidental, gave no atten- 


PALMS. 


486 

tion to it; there was no mistake now, however, 
and, wheeling suddenly around, he confronted 
a man wrapped in a cloak, so dark that he was 
scarcely discernible in the surrounding gloom. 
His movement was so quick and unexpected, 
that the fellow had no time to fall back, and 
almost ran against him. 

“For what purpose dost thou follow me, 
friend? Dost thou need help?” said Nemesius, 
in grave, kind tones. 

“Aye, illustrious signor,” stammered the 
other, ‘ ‘ I heard thou wert merciful to the needy ; 
but I was ashamed to beg, and followed, hop- 
ing—” 

“To attract my attention? I will ask thee no 
questions; take this,” said Nemesius, dropping 
some silver coins into his hand; “and if thou 
art sore pressed again, come to me openly.” 

The man’s dark, slender fingers closed over 
the silver, and with muttered thanks he turned 
away. ‘ ‘ I must be more wary, ’ ’ he panted, as 
he ran through the darkness. “I could have 
stabbed him, but that would be going beyond 
my instructions, to say nothing of losing the re- 
ward I am promised, and perhaps my head. ’ ’ It 
was the Cypriot. 

Again and again after this, Nemesius fancied 
he heard stealthy footsteps near him when going 
on his errands of mercy at night to various parts 
of the city; often he felt a presence of some one 
unseen — by that keen sense, call it magnetism or 


PALMS. 


487 


what you will, by which some organizations can 
feel even a passing shadow — but there was noth- 
ing visible whenever he turned, and he thought 
it might be the echo of his own footsteps. 

In the mean time Fabian sought by every 
means to divert his mind from the apprehensions 
that tormented him, and look again only on 
the sunny side of life, but without success; for 
haunting forebodings attended him still, filling 
him with an unrest as uncontrollable as it was 
sad. His heart drew him to the villa on the 
Aventine with an impulse he found it difficult 
to resist; but he had not courage to go until he 
should become more accustomed to the changed 
state of affairs there. 

One evening he went to the imperial palace. 
The soft strains of double flutes and stringed in- 
struments blended with the hum of conversa- 
tion and a light ripple of laughter, as the gay, 
pleasure-seeking guests, clad in festal attire and 
sparkling with jewels, moved through the splen- 
did and luxuriously-appointed rooms. Stopped 
often to exchange salutations and a few words 
with acquaintances and friends of both sexes, 
Fabian’s progress was slow towards the magnifi- 
cent apartment in which the Bmperor and his 
court held state on occasions of this sort. At 
length he was near enough to see Laodice — con- 
spicuous as usual by the splendor of her dress 
and jewels, and the pre-eminence of her beauty 
— receiving like a queen the adulation and flat- 


PALMS. 


488 

teries of the groups around her; she saw him at 
the same instant, and with a glance of her superb 
eyes invited him to her. She was in a gay 
mood, and glad to see the only man in Rome 
whose wit was worth a tilt with her own; she 
also had a purpose, known but to herself, which 
made his presence especially opportune and wel- 
come. 

After the first greeting and interchange of 
pleasant words, flavored with satirical but polite 
banter, the group of gay adorers, who had been 
offering so sedulously the incense of their hom- 
age to her charms, with ready tact withdrew, to 
avoid being cast into the shade by this more 
brilliant aspirant for her favor, giving Uaodice 
the opportunity she coveted. 

“Canst thou give me news of the beautiful 
blind child at the villa on the Aventine ? ’ ’ she 
asked in soft tones, waving her peacock fan 
gracefully to and fro with indolent motion. 

“Claudia! she is quite well; I saw her the day 
after my return from Umbria. She grows more 
lovely every day,” answered Fabian, startled by 
her question; for none, except her slave, the 
Cypriot, knew this woman better than himself. 

‘ ‘ Can it be true that her blindness is cured, or 
is the report to that effect but one of those 
rumors one is always hearing in Rome?” she 
asked. 

“It is true,” said Fabian, having quickly re- 
covered his self-possession and ready tact. ‘ ‘ She 


PALMS. 489 

can see out of a pair of eyes almost as bright 
and beautiful as thine. ’ ’ 

“He must be a most skilful physician who 
cured her,” she rejoined. 

“Yes, the fellow is skilful; he cured me of a 
dreadful fever I got on a troop-ship once in my 
travels, and I recommended him to Nemesius. 
He brings his skill from the Bast, where he lived 
many years; he also studied in the schools of 
Egypt. He is a strange, mysterious man, who 
comes and goes like a ghost. It all happened 
while I was away in Umbria.” 

There was a baffled look in Laodice’s eyes at 
this simple, straightforward statement. “What 
if, after all,” she thought, “the Cypriot has de- 
ceived me ! ’ ’ 

At this moment there occurred an unexpected 
interruption. The Emperor, having taken a 
fancy to seek amusement among the guests, 
espied Fabian, and shouted to him in his usual 
strident, rumbling voice. Instantly turning, 
Fabian made graceful obeisance, and stood wait- 
ing his pleasure. 

“Health to thee, since thou art still alive, 
which thy long absence inclined me to doubt! 
Canst tell me aught of thy Achates, our com- 
mander of the Imperial Legion?” 

“I have been absent from Rome, Imperator, 
and have seen Nemesius but once since my re- 
turn. He is looking into his private affairs, I 
learn,” said Fabian, with as indifferent an air as 


490 


PALMS. 


he could assume. “Truly,” he thought, “Fate 
seems pressing close. ’ ’ 

“Aha! by Mars!” cried Valerian, with a 
coarse laugh, ‘ ‘ is that all ? Can it be thou hast 
not seen the fair one of his choice, or heard of 
his soft dalliance, or the second nuptials? By 
the Bona Dea! she who has won Neinesius must 
be a paragon. ’ ’ 

Fabian did not know that this was the infer- 
ence Valerian had drawn from the esoteric ex- 
pressions of Nemesius in their last interview, 
but he was not thrown off his guard; he only 
said: 

“Nemesius rarely talks of what is in his heart; 
it is his sanctuary, and all it holds is sacred to 
him. ’ ’ 

“A confidential matter, I see; but why such 
secrecy, unless to make the revelation more 
splendid by contrast? Commend me to the silent 
for surprises,” rumbled Valerian, from his short, 
fat throat. “Nemesius has his hands full; for, 
besides his romance, and looking into the affairs 
of his large estates, he blends duty with pleasure 
by visiting the prisons occasionally, at my re- 
quest; to see that those wicked dealers in magic, 
and conspirators against the State, ycleped 
Christians, have their deserts.” A scowl of 
hatred drew the tyrant’s heavy brows together, 
and his visage grew purple at the very thought 
of them. 

Laodice had stood, in all her superb beauty, 


PALMS. 


49 1 


silently watching Fabian’s countenance, unob- 
served, as she imagined, in the hope of detecting 
some subtle, flitting expression, by which she 
might judge of the truth or falsity of his words; 
but it was inscrutable. He was on his guard, 
knowing that her eyes were upon him; and now, 
as he turned towards her, he observed a strange 
glitter, like a spark of fire, scintillating in their 
depths, which boded no good — an idea confirmed 
by her words. 

“It will please thee, Imperator, to learn that 
the beautiful child Claudia, is cured of her blind- 
ness, ’ ’ she said, in honeyed tones to the Emperor. 

“The little maid of the Aventine — the child 
of Nemesius! By Apollo! such news is like the 
jewel in a toad’s forehead, in times like these. 
Health to the little beauty! But tell us by what 
skill or magic the extraordinary cure was made?” 
he asked, with singular interest. 

“Fabian says by the skill of a famous Eastern 
physician,” rejoined Eaodice. 

“He must possess the skill of Machaon him- 
self, to give sight to one born blind. Is the 
report true ? ’ ’ inquired the Emperor, turning to 
Fabian for confirmation. 

“ It is indeed true, Imperator, to the joy of all 
who love her,” he answered, feeling himself on 
dangerous ground. 

‘ ‘ The pretty one is favored by the gods to be 
in such luck. I remember her as beautiful as 
Psyche. But I would hear more of the wonder- 


492 


PALMS. 


worker, astrologer, magician, or what, who cured 
her. By Fidius! if he can give sight to one bom 
blind, he must be able to bring the dead to life, ’ ’ 
said Valerian. 

“ Some go so far as to claim that he can, but 
there is a margin in all reports for exaggeration, ’ ’ 
was the quiet reply. 

“Where is he to be found? I’ll give him his 
own price, however high he may rate his ser- 
vices, to go with me when we march against 
Sapor. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I can not tell, imperial sir. He was on his 
way to the East when he saw the child. He 
may return soon, for he comes and goes like a 
shadow. He cured me of a deadly fever once 
on my way from Cyprus, and looks in upon me 
whenever he passes through Rome. Should he 
appear again before the army moves, I will ap- 
prise thee.” 

“Thou wilt earn my gratitude by so doing,” 
answered the rumbling, imperial voice, as the 
General of the Praetorian Guard approached, — 
one whose claim to attention no Roman Emperor 
could afford to slight. Fabian almost drew a 
sigh of relief as the burly form of Valerian 
moved away. But he was not quite through the 
narrow strait in which, so far, he had skilfully 
avoided both Scylla and Charybdis. 

Eaodice, however, determined to probe the 
affair further. 

“The Eastern physician is as great a thau- 


PALMS. 


493 


maturgist as the famous Nazarene,” she said, 
with a sneer lurking under her soft smile, and a 
deep meaning in her eyes and voice. 

“So it is thought by some,” was Fabian’s 
tranquil answer; “but to me it is a one-sided 
proposition, as I am acquainted with only one 
of the parties.” 

Then, with his most delusive and irresistible 
smile, and that deferential, delicate manner 
which takes captive womankind in all ages, he 
added: “I can speak only of such spells as I 
know, beautiful sorceress, with anything like 
certainty. Fet me ask, in turn, the fate of thy 
latest conquest, the young Syrian prince. ’ ’ 

Faodice was too vain a woman not to fall into 
the trap, and yielded herself unresistingly to 
Fabian’s elegant, subtle flatteries; and in the 
war of wit and repartee that thereafter ensued 
between them, she gave herself up to the fasci- 
nation of the hour, knowing that she could bide 
her time for the gratification of her revenge. 

But under it all the thought of the peril im- 
pending over Nemesius and his child was like a 
thorn in Fabian’s heart; no protean mask that 
he might assume could disguise the painful fact 
from himself. And no sooner had he left Fa- 
odice, wearing his usual smile, speaking gay, 
sharp, witty words to those of his acquaintances 
he met on his way out, and found himself alone 
with the night, than a stern expression of dread 
and sorrow clouded his face, and he drew the 


494 


PALMS. 


hood of his light cloak low over it, so that nei- 
ther friend nor foe might observe him too closely 
as he passed homeward. 

1 1 How did Laodice discover that Claudia is no 
longer blind?” he asked himself as he hastened 
along; “and how far does her knowledge of the 
event extend? Have I baffled her by my eva- 
sions and transposition of facts?” He could not 
tell; he only knew that she was as artful as 
Circe, and was convinced that some fresh disap- 
pointment to her hopes had risen to kindle her 
hatred against Nemesius and his innocent child, 
and that her revenge would follow them to the 
bitter end. 

Fabian sought his couch as usual, but the 
tumult of his thoughts forbade sleep. Once, 
towards day-dawn, he lost himself; but a vivid, 
frightful dream, in which he found himself strug- 
gling to release Nemesius and Claudia from the 
deadly coils of a python with a beautiful human 
face, which was wrapping itself closer and tighter 
around them, aroused him, and with the horror 
of the dream upon him, he sprang to the floor, 
every sinew strained by the desperate contest, 
and his face covered with a cold sweat. 

Such a dream was not unnatural in the over- 
strained condition of his mind and nerves; but 
he would not court sleep again, if such horrible 
visions lay in wait for him beyond its portals. 
He lighted his lamp, looked at the clepsydra, 
took up a volume of the Satires of Juvenal, and 


PALMS. 


495 


found in their bitterness a mental tonic, which, 
although refreshing, failed to bring forgetfulness 
of the vague unrest that haunted him. 

After the light morning repast, Fabian resolved 
to drive to the villa on the Aventine; he was un- 
certain what he should find there, but concluded 
that to know even the worst would be better 
than this incubus of dread brooding continually 
over him. As he passed through the great 
bronze gates, and up the broad avenue, where 
every leaf and blade of grass held its glistening 
dew-gem — where the birds sang, and the sweet- 
ness of flowers pervaded the radiant atmosphere, 
he almost imagined that his old fever had been 
playing tricks with his brain, filling it with il- 
lusions, and that he was just awake. 

Slaves ran to lead his chariot away as soon as 
he alighted. Standing a moment, he cast a 
glance over the beautiful grounds, and almost 
the first object that attracted his eye was Claudia, 
on a marble bench, under the great trees, her 
gazelle frisking near her, while some of her little 
pensioners, now grown strong and active, were 
riding Grillo by turns. Zilla sat apart, her pale 
face bent over a piece of rich embroidery, into 
which she was working threads of gold. And 
the sunshine through the leaves fell like a spray 
of gold over them all. 

Claudia rose and half advanced to meet Fabian 
as he approached, waving his hand with a grace- 
ful gesture of salutation ; then she stopped, while 


PALMS. 


496 

a delicate glow overspread her face, for to her 
eyes he was still only a noble-looking stranger, 
from whose presence she shrank with instinctive 
and modest reserve, until he greeted her in the 
old familiar voice of her blind days; then she 
smiled and welcomed him. 

“ I salute thee, fairest! Methought Aurora had 
chosen to disport herself among the flowers, to 
receive the homage of fauns and naiads; while 
Zilla — health to thee, Zilla! — like the pale moon, 
hovered near,” he said, gaily; for so far from 
these peaceful, lovely scenes appeared all thought 
of violence and danger, that he resolutely turned 
his back 011 the latter, and his face to the sun- 
shine, temporary though it might prove to be. 

Claudia smiled at his nonsense, and he thought 
he could never tire of the sweet, pure outlook of 
her radiant eyes. 

‘ ‘ I have been wishing to see thee, oh ! so much, 
Fabian! I have a keepsake for thee. Wait here 
until I run and bring it, ’ ’ she said. 

u Let me go for it, dear one!” exclaimed Zilla, 
rising. 

“No! no! do thou rest here — I will be back in 
a moment,” she answered over her shoulder, as 
she sped away across the grassy, flower-dappled 
expanse that stretched between them and the 
villa. In a few moments she appeared, running 
towards them, her golden hair flying in the wind, 
her face bright and glowing, her hands clasping 
a small package. 


PAI„MS. 


497 


4 ‘Wilt thou come with me to the cascade, Fa- 
bian ? It is a long time since we were there, ’ ’ 
she said; then to Zilla with a caress: “Thou wilt 
care for the little ones while I am away?” 

And they walked away together, the gazelle, 
which would not be left behind, followed close 
by the side of its gentle mistress, content to feel 
her soft hand upon its head, and occasionally rub 
its nose in her rosy palm. 

Fabian involuntarily paused a moment at the 
Fountain of Diana, arrested by the view of the 
magnificent city outspread far below; its fanes, 
palaces, columns, and triumphal arches, draped 
as with tissues of gold by the Roman sunshine, 
which was so intensely bright that the shadows 
of their graceful projections lay blue along the 
flawless marble. He could even distinguish, by 
its sharper gleam, the great gold statue of Ju- 
piter that surmounted the temple erected in his 
honor. A throb of pride dilated his Roman 
heart as his eyes swept over the glorious spec- 
tacle, and he could but exult over its pre-emi- 
nence as the queen of the nations. But far dif- 
ferent were Claudia’s thoughts; for it reminded 
her of that Celestial City, with gates of jasper and 
pearl, the light of which is He that was slain, 
the splendor of His Father, the Son of Mary, the 
joy of angels! The ecstatic reflection filled her 
heart and irradiated her countenance. Fabian 
caught its gleam as he turned away. 

“Aha!” he exclaimed, well pleased, “thou 
1 6* 


PALMS. 


498 

art a true Roman; yet how could it be other- 
wise, with the blood of a Caesar in thy veins?” 

He judged her by himself, nor dreamed that it 
was the thought of a “ city not made with hands, ’ ’ 
that, like a lamp in a vase of alabaster, shone 
out from her glad soul, and illumined her fair 
countenance with heavenly graces. 

Through the rose-blooms and orange flowers, 
under the palms, and along broad walks shaded 
by lime and sweet olive trees — through alleys 
where the white jasmine trailed its snow-white 
stars, filling the air with sweetness, they found 
their way to the cascade, which sprang flashing 
and sparkling from the rocks above. A grape- 
vine trailed from a crevice in the rock, where it 
had taken root, and with wanton grace flung red, 
ripening clusters to the sun, out of reach of all 
except birds and bees. Claudia held her hand 
in the crystal water; the gazelle lapped it dain- 
tily as it trickled over the marge of the basin; 
and Fabian, delighted in every fibre of his aes- 
thetic nature by the exquisite picture, stood 
watching the child. There was that in her 
which puzzled him — a strange womanliness, 
without loss of her old, sweet, childish simplic- 
ity; an air of absolute happiness tempered by a 
soft seriousness, which cast no shadow over eye 
or lip. The pagan mind of him could not read it. 

Drying her hands on the moss, she seated her- 
self on a low grassy bank, overgrown with 
vetches, in front of the rustic stone bench on 


PALMS. 


499 


which Fabian, at a sign from her, flung himself 
with an indolent air. The sunshine and leaf- 
shadows flickered and danced over them. Clau- 
dia’s package, on which her hand lightly rested, 
lay beside her, and the soft-eyed gazelle crouched 
at her feet. 

i ‘And now, my Psyche, I am at thy bidding, 
whether to slay a python or go in search of a 
pigmy to add to thy family of pets,” he said, in 
his old gay tones. 

“No, oh! no!” she answered, with a little 
laugh; “it is nothing like that. I have some- 
thing to say which no one else must know — 
yet. ’ ’ 

He grew instantly intent, and a vague dread 
chilled his veins, as, fixing her grave, sweet eyes 
on his, she began: 

“Fabian, I am going away soon — ” 

“Mercury speed thy journey, sweet one!” he 
interrupted, as a wild hope sprang up in his 
heart that Nemesius had, on second thought, 
changed his mind and would fly with her to a 
place of safety. “When wilt thou start? Tell 
me, that I may not be left behind. ’ ’ 

“Oh! what joy it would be to have thee with 
us! But it is different from what is in thy 
thoughts, Fabian. I will tell thee. There are 
cruel men who kill all who will not deny and 
curse the divine Christus. They may come for 
us — my father and me — at any hour of the day 
or night, as soon as they find out that we are 


5 °° 


PALMS. 


Christians; but not all they can do would make 
me deny Him who suffered death for me. I would 
be glad to suffer and die for the love of Him. 
And, O Fabian! is it not joyous to know that we 
— my father and I — shall not be separated? Wilt 
thou come with us now?” she asked, holding 
out her hand. 

“I might go on a worse journey, little one; 
but the conditions are impossible; for how can I 
deny that which I never affirmed? The Chris- 
tus is nothing to me. It is possible to be happy 
under the mild sway of the gods, but it is like a 
reign of the Furies under thy Christus,” said 
Fabian, his grief more bitter than his scorn. 

“There are no gods, Fabian; those we wor- 
shipped as gods are devils. There is only One 
Supreme God, who made all creatures. The 
gods can neither give nor restore life ; they could 
not give sight to my blind eyes; but He in one 
instant opened my eyes, and gave faith to my 
soul, that I might believe His word, and have 
eternal life,” she said, her voice exultant and 
sweet. 

“Thy logic is weak, my little dialectician,” 
he replied. 

“I do not understand words of the learned, 
Fabian; but I do know what it means to be a 
Christian, which I am, come life or death,” she 
said, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes 
towards heaven, with an expression so holy and 
radiant that he remembered it to his dying day; 


PALMS. 


501 


then, “I will ask Advocata nostra to intercede 
for thee, Fabian, and lead thee to Her divine 
Son; and, if I may, when I go to Them I will 
rest not from praying that thou wilt at last 
come. ’ ’ 

He loved the little maid too tenderly to say 
words out of his pain that would distress her, or 
ruffle the exaltation of her enthusiasm, dementia , 
or whatever it might be; she called it faith, but 
it was faith of a quality he could not compre- 
hend because its animus was far beyond the 
level of human philosophy, ^nd exalted her — a 
simple child — above its widest scope. He was 
inclined to believe that the accursed Chimcera 
had woven spells around both father and child, 
to their own undoing. He remained silent; he 
wished to get away from the subject, and lapse 
once more into transient pretence of forgetfulness 
of the grim realities, only veiled maybe by a 
day, or perchance an hour. 

Just then a great, rose-colored butterfly fanned 
Fabian’s hair, and fluttered down against his 
cheek, made fearless by his perfect repose and 
silence. He lifted his hand and caught it by the 
tips of its wings, then offered it to Claudia; in 
another moment the beautiful, frightened cap- 
tive trembled on her palm, where it slowly waved 
its wings once or twice, to assure itself that it 
was indeed at liberty; she brushed them with a 
kiss, then tossed it into the air, and watched it 
drifting and quivering farther and farther, until 
it disappeared in the golden haze. 


502 


PALMS. 


“Now I wait the reward of my patience; I am 
consumed with curiosity about the promised 
keepsake, all the more because no one has ever 
before valued me sufficiently to give me one, ’ ’ 
said Fabian, who had been watching her, almost 
fancying that Psyche herself had sent the but- 
terfly to afford him an opportunity to change the 
conversation without abruptness. 

“I had not forgotten,” she said, gently; then 
untied, one by one, the silken cords that confined 
the package, which contained two parcels of un- 
equal size, both sealed. 

“This,” she said, taking up the larger one, 
“is the music-bird that was given to me a lus- 
trum ago, by that gentle old man who came to 
see if he could cure my eyes. ’ ’ 

“The physician Ben- Asa,” replied Fabian. 
“I remember.” 

‘ ‘ It had been the plaything of his own little 
girl, who was dead, and he said it had been in 
his family hundreds of years, ’ ’ she went on ; “so 
I think it must have been very precious to him. 
I want it given back to him with my love and 
thanks, after I go away; and tell him, Fabian, I 
prized it very much, and took great pleasure 
in it.” 

“Is it not just possible, dear one, thou mayest 
be disappointed of thy expected journey. People 
often are, even when most certain of going,” he 
observed, with a ring of impatience in his voice ; 
for it seemed as if Fate with cruel insistence 


PALMS. 


503 


hemmed him in, leaving him no escape from his 
pain; “but I promise, in either case, whatever 
thou wilt. ’ ’ 

“Thou art always kind, Fabian. This,” she 
said, giving him the smaller package, “is thy 
keepsake. It is a rich jewel, and entirely my 
own to do with as I please, and I have worn it. 
Do not open it until — I am no longer here. That 
is all, Fabian, except that I would thank thee 
for all thy love and kindness. ’ ’ 

He bowed his head over the little hand that 
presented the gift, and touched it with his lips, 
with a feeling of reverence such as he had never 
felt towards the gods ; but he did not speak — this 
man, whose philosophy boasted itself of im- 
munity from all disturbing emotions, who had 
believed happiness on earth possible, until now. 
His heart felt as heavy as lead, and had he 
opened his lips, all the bitterness of his sorrow 
would have found vent. He thrust the things 
she had given him into the bosom of his tunic, 
and walked away a short distance, when, having 
mastered his emotions, he plucked a tall, snow- 
white lily, and, going back, placed it in her 
hands, saying: 

“Thy words have pained me, little one; but I 
take comfort in the fact that thou art no sibyl. 
I will treasure thy keepsake while I have breath, 
but one of thy golden curls would be more prec- 
ious to me than jewels; for it would remind me, 
after thou art grown up, that thy beautiful child- 
hood was not a dream. ’ ’ 


504 


PALMS. 


“Thou shalt have thy choice of them all,” 
she said, with a smile, as she ruffled her dainty, 
dimpled hand through them; “Zilla shall cut 
one for thee as soon as we get back. ’ ’ 

“Let us hurry, then; the sun grows hot, and 
fever lurks in those soft winds now drifting to us 
over the Pontine maishes. We have loitered 
here too long,” he added. 

When they got back, expecting to find Zilla 
in the same place, she and the children, with 
Grillo, had disappeared; but the noble lady Ca- 
milla, had just arrived, and was stepping from 
her chariot. Claudia flew to greet her; and 
Fabian, after an interchange of salutations and 
pleasant words, went away without the golden 
tress, which not until a later day came into his 
possession. 

That night, feeling that solitude best suited 
his present mood, he sat alone, trying to concen- 
trate his attention on a favorite comedy, and find 
his usual enjoyment in its pungent, satirical wit; 
but the flavor was wanting; the zest was gone; 
even the rustle of the vellum on which it was 
written irritated him, and made him start. A 
voice that he recognized, and approaching foot- 
steps, made him turn expectant towards the en- 
trance* of his cabinet; the curtain was drawn 
aside, and Nemesius was ushered in. Their 
hand-clasp was as warm, their greeting as sin- 
cere and friendly as ever, though distinguished 
by a gravity different from their former inter- 


PALMS. 


505 

course; nor was the visit one for the purpose of 
social enjoyment, as Nemesius presently ex- 
plained. He brought with him certain legal 
papers, drawn according to the strictest interpre- 
tation and formula of the Roman law, which he 
ashed Fabian, in the name of their life-long 
friendship, to preserve until such time as the be- 
quests therein indicated could be disposed of, 
first by the written, and later by his verbal in- 
structions. 

He went over them carefully, word by word, 
with Fabian, that in the future there should be 
no misunderstanding as to the conditions, which 
might cause the latter to think his friendship 
had been strained too far at a moment* and under 
circumstances which greater deliberation would 
have made it impossible for him to accept. 
There was no fear of a mistake: it was all plain 
to him; and, though the situation was anom- 
olous, he pledged himself to hold as his own, 
according to the written bequest, and as the heir 
of Nemesius, the old palace with all it con- 
tained, and the villa and estate on the Aventine, 
until such time as by the latter’s verbal wish 
they could be safely transferred to the Christian 
Church, to be applied to her needs at the discre- 
tion of her reigning Pontiff. 

The pagan gentleman made no difficulty about 
holding in trust a heritage for the Christians; he 
would have done more for the sake of the man 
he loved; but that was all that was required, but 


PALMS. 


5°6 

not all that he afterwards, with splendid gener- 
osity and noble unselfishness, offered to do. 

Nemesius had already liberated his numerous 
slaves, giving a provision to all, to enable them 
to tide over their first days of freedom, until 
they should find self-support; he had turned his 
gold and silver and jewels into the treasury of 
the persecuted church, for the use of the poor; 
and now, like an athlete divested of all that 
might impede his victory, he waited for the final 
combat. It had cost him nothing to give up his 
earthly possessions, but there was a something 
more precious than all yet to be offered before his 
sacrifice was perfect, which would strain every 
fibre of his being, and rend his nature with an 
anguish which no material implement of torture, 
however savage — which no death, however cruel, 
could inflict. But he knew in whom he trusted; 
he remembered Gethsemane, and that moment 
of supreme desolation on the Cross that crowned 
Christ’s holy Passion. In Him he hoped, wait- 
ing His holy will, strong in faith, and willing to 
suffer all things in testimony thereof. 


PALMS. 


507 


CHAPTER XIX. 

BY THE WAY OF THE CROSS THEY WIN THEIR 
PALMS. 

“I have come, dear child,” said Camilla, as 
they entered the cool, shaded atrium, “to stay 
until the sun gets low; then thou wilt come with 
me to my old villa out near the Via Latina, 
where thy noble father and my husband Tertul- 
lus will meet us. The holy Pontiff has signified 
a wish to see thee. Wilt thou come?” 

“Oh, joyfully! I have thought constantly of 
the holy man, and that wonderful day that 
seemed to be the first day of my life. And his 
face was the first I saw when my eyes were 
opened. Thou art very kind, dear lady, to a 
foolish child, ’ ’ said Claudia, kissing the hand she 
held. 

To kneel once more at the holy Pontiff’s feet 
and feel his benediction, like a perfumed flame, 
penetrating her heart, while it glowed and sang 
its new song to Him whose name was graven 
upon it, and to know that her father would be 
there to share her happiness, was almost too 
much; only the language of Heaven could voice 
her felicity; and, although she made no attempt 
to give it expression, it irradiated her counte- 


PALMS. 


508 

nance, scintillated in her eyes, smiled upon her 
lips, and crowned her altogether with a strange, 
spiritualized loveliness, of which she was as un- 
conscious as is a flower when the glory of the 
sunshine rests upon it. 

“I thought it would make thee glad,” said 
the noble matron, noting the celestial expression 
of her countenance, while she thought: “How 
near the highest wisdom is the foolishness of a 
pure and innocent soul ! ’ ’ 

Two of the household slaves now entered, each 
bearing a tray, one of which held crystal cups 
of snow-cooled orange juice, light, sweet cakes, 
great golden pears, and clusters of white and 
purple grapes ; on the other were broidered nap- 
kins of fine Egyptian linen, two small gold 
basins containing perfumed water, and garlands 
of summer lilies and Damascus roses. After ar- 
ranging the refreshments on a malachite table, 
whose green, highly-polished surface gave beau- 
tiful effect to the viands, they withdrew; and 
Claudia, always a gracious hostess, invited her 
friend to the light repast, which the summer 
heat made especially grateful. 

Camilla had arisen at an early hour that morn- 
ing, to assist at the divine Sacrifice of the Altar 
in the palace of a friend who was a recent con- 
vert to Christianity — a widow, whose two half- 
grown daughters received baptism at the same 
time as herself. She gave secret shelter to a 
priest, and one or two converts of the patrician 


PALMS. 


509 


class, on whom the authorities determined to 
take signal vengeance as soon as they could be 
hunted down. Many of the ancient palaces of 
Rome had been constructed with concealed places 
of refuge within their walls, to which their in- 
mates could fly for safety in times of invasion 
and violence. This and one or two others like 
it had become not only hiding-places for the per- 
secuted priests, but sanctuaries where the mys- 
tery of the Holy Eucharist was often celebrated. 

When the Divine Sacrifice was finished, and 
each devout soul had received the Bread of Eter- 
nal Eife, and offered fervent thanksgiving for 
the mystic feast, the little congregation silently 
rose to depart. In the corridor Camilla spoke to 
Nemesius, who had been present. She warned 
him that there were whispered rumors afloat — 
none could tell whence they came — that his 
child had been cured of her blindness by the 
Pontiff Stephen, and that suspicion and surmise 
were rife. Some declared that a famous Eastern 
physician had given her sight, but others pre- 
ferred the more sensational side of the story — 
that it was by the sorceries of the Christian 
Pope, who was well known to be a magician, 
that her blindness was cured. 

“Discovery is inevitable. I do not seek it, 
and will not evade it. My will is the holy will 
of God. I have prepared my little one for that 
which is in prospect, and she is willing to suffer 
for Christ. Nature has given her a brave heart; 


PALMS. 


5 IQ 

divine grace will give her strength and con- 
stancy in the hour of trial. She knows the 
voice of her true Shepherd, who will deliver His 
lamb from the fangs of the wolves seeking to 
devour her; and He will bear her in His arms to 
His own heavenly pastures,” answered Neme- 
sius, as if communing with himself. 

Camilla’s eyes filled with tears. “I am going 
to her this morning,” she said. “The holy 
Pontiff has asked to see her, and, with thy con- 
sent, I will take her with me to my villa, where 
we will spend the night. Tertullus will be 
there, and, if it be possible, wilt thou not join 
us ? In the morning our Holy Father offers the 
Divine Sacrifice in the old tower-chapel.” 

“It is my turn to serve him at the altar. I 
will be with you this evening. Tell my little 
maid to expect me,” he answered, and they 
parted. 

And so Camilla had come on her loving errand 
to the villa on the Aventine, the explanation of 
which brings herself and Claudia to the end of 
their light repast. Rising from the table, the 
little hostess led her friend up to the beautiful 
summer room where she was born, and in which 
her fair young mother had died, since which sad 
event no changes had been made in it, except to 
remove a shrine on which had stood a statue of 
some deity, to which formerly divine honors had 
been daily offered, and certain images of the 
Penates that had for many years looked down 


PALMS. 


511 

from their pedestals with stony smiles of prom- 
ise, which they were powerless to fulfil. In 
their places, carved in alabaster by a young 
Christian sculptor in the Catacombs, were small 
statues of Christ the Good Shepherd, the Virgin 
Mother and Her divine Babe, the holy Apostles 
Peter and Paul, who had suffered martyrdom in 
Rome, and others who had given glorious testi- 
mony, even unto death, for their Faith. 

Here, sitting together, Camilla and her young 
neophyte held long, sweet converse, and the 
noble Christian matron discovered, as the latter 
laid her heart bare to her, that her dispositions 
were singularly perfect; that her faith, love, sim- 
plicity of mind, and directness of purpose were 
in advance of the brief period of her Christian 
life, and were supernaturally combined with an 
utter, childlike humility which pervaded all. 
They talked much of the bitter ordeal by which 
the martyrs won their palms, but Claudia was 
presently silent, then at last she gave expression 
to her feelings. 

“Their terrible sufferings do not last long,” 
she said, “and when all is over they fly like 
doves to the dear Chris tus; then their joy begins, 
never to end. The wicked ones may frighten 
me by their violence when they take me away to 
kill me, and I may cry out with pain, for I am 
only a child; but my tongue shall never deny 
Him, and my soul, that came from Him, shall 
cling to Him and praise Him until my flesh and 


5 « 


PALMS. 


my body are torn to pieces; then He will bring 
me alive out of their hands, to dwell with Him 
forever and forever. ’ ’ 

Camilla now explained to her more fully than 
she had yet done the Sacrament of the Holy 
Eucharist, having several times before only ap- 
proached the august subject; she told her that 
Jesus Christ Himself was really present in the 
divine Sacrifice of the Altar, and that His faith- 
ful ones received Him whole and entire from the 
hands of the priest, in the Holy Communion, as 
their Food and their Guest, to strengthen and 
sustain them in life, and as their Viaticum in 
death, to defend, console, and give them safe 
passage from time to eternity. 

“Oh! tell me how soon I may receive Him 
into my heart!” she besought. 

“It is not usual, dear child, for one so young 
as thyself to be admitted to this great mystery; 
but our Holy Father Stephen will judge. I 
think I may give thee hope, ’ ’ answered Camilla, 
feeling almost sure that an exception would be 
made in favor of this child of many graces, over 
whose head the sword of martyrdom hung sus- 
pended; for it was one of those unusual cases in 
which years do not count. 

The day passed happily and swiftly, heaven 
had seemed so near, and at sunset Camilla, ac- 
companied by Claudia, drove out of the city 
gates, along the flowery stretches of the Agro 
Romano, where all the beauty of the peaceful, 


PALMS. 


513 


smiling scene, touched with the flickering gold 
of the sunset, made eloquent protest against the 
inhuman cruelties by which mortals marred the 
divine harmony of nature. 

Within an hour after their arrival at the old 
walled villa, Nemesius and Tertullus came, 
and, after brief but cordial greeting, they went 
together down into the Catacombs, to present 
themselves to the Pontiff, and receive from him 
certain instructions in relation to measures for a 
more extended distribution of aid to the needy, 
suffering Church. 

Early on the following morning Claudia was 
summoned -to the chapel of the ruined tower. 
Following her guide, she was ushered into the 
presence of the holy Bishop, who regarded with 
tender interest the graceful, innocent child, as 
with glad yet reverent steps she approached and 
knelt at his feet. Giving her his blessing, he 
questioned her, leading her by gentle steps from 
one point to another, until her pure heart, with 
all its faith, fervor and courage, lay open before 
him, and he discerned her spirit so clearly as to 
be assured that she might indeed receive the 
Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ, and 
that in her angelic heart Our Blessed Lord would 
find an abiding place in which it would delight 
Him to dwell. The Pontiff gave her holy abso- 
lution ; for, although her life was without a stain 
of mortal sin, there were doubtless venial shad- 
ows, from which it would release and purify her. 
17 


5i4 


PALMS. 


Then he bade her go in peace; and her face 
beamed with joy and happiness when she joined 
her father and Camilla, and told them that she 
was invited to the wedding feast. 

“It will be her Viaticum,” thought Camilla, 
whose eyes were dim with tears; “but oh! su- 
preme selfishness! oh, human weakness! ye shall 
not have power to make me for a moment wish 
to keep such a soul from heaven ! ’ ’ 

Camilla had prepared the altar, draping it 
with precious embroideries of gold, not the cast- 
off finery of her worldly life, but new and costly 
fabrics, thinking nothing too rich or priceless for 
His temple-throne. She had brought forth her 
jewelled vases, and arranged them, filled with 
flowers, on each side of the tabernacle, and 
placed among them golden lamps, which con- 
tained perfumed oil, and gave a clear, brilliant 
light. And now the saintly Pontiff, in vest- 
ments of white, with silver-broidered cross upon 
the back, attended by his deacon, Nemesius, as- 
cended the altar and celebrated the Divine Sac- 
rifice with singular devotion, knowing that for 
all there present, including himself, this might 
be their last, and the Communion their Viati- 
cum. The same thought was in every mind, 
and so with adoring faith, exalted love, and sol- 
emn joy, they received their Lord and the bene- 
diction of His ineffable presence. Their inter- 
view with their heavenly Guest was so full of 
fervor that in pouring forth the ointment of 


PALMS. 


5*5 


their love upon Him, they forgot their needs and 
all they had meant to ask for; but He knew — 
He would remember, and they were satisfied. 

When the moment of departure came, the 
Pontiff blessed them individually and with deep 
emotion. “Pray for me, my little hucilla,” he 
said, laying his hand on Claudia’s golden head. 

1 1 L,et us remember each other, my children, in 
our prayers; pray for your old Bishop, that when 
proved his gold may not be found to be dross; 
and pray for the persecuted Church. As often 
as I celebrate the holy mysteries I will have ye 
in mind. ’ ’ 

He was turning away, and they were about 
separating, when Claudia, with voice full of en- 
treaty, asked him if she might come again. 

“We will meet soon, my lamb,” he answered, 
gently. The spirit of prophecy was on him; he 
knew what he knew, but held his peace. 

That night two youths, wrapped in sober-hued 
togas, met in the shadow of a stately palace in 
the neighborhood of the Forum Trajano, evi- 
dently intent on some appointment. There was 
a fog, through which filtered a soft drizzle of 
rain ; and while they stood conversing a moment, 
a low-voiced stranger drew near, and, having 
courteously saluted them, said that he had acci- 
dentally overheard them while standing under 
the arched door-way close by, where he had 
taken shelter from the rain, and judging by their 
words that they were Christians, he besought 


PALMS. 


516 


\ 


them to guide him where he could be baptized 
and instructed, as that very day at the Temple 
of Mars he had witnessed a martyrdom which 
had opened his eyes to the truth. 

Zealous but inexperienced, as well as credu- 
lous, the young men invited him to accompany 
them; they were only catechumens, they said, 
but would introduce him to a holy deacon, who 
would give him the instruction he desired. He 
expressed his thanks with proper humility and 
gratitude, and they proceeded on their way to- 
gether. 

Had they only known that this plausible 
wretch was a miserable apostate, how swiftly 
they would have avoided his companionship! 
But there was none to tell his brief, infamous 
history — how once, in a moment of excitement, 
and ungovernable curiosity to penetrate the se- 
crets of a mysterious sect, to afterwards barter 
them for gold, he had declared himself a Chris- 
tian and been baptized; but having been arrested 
soon after, with several of his new companions, 
and confronted with the rack and flame, had de- 
nied and cursed Christ as required, burnt incense 
to Jupiter, and accused his friends of having de- 
luded him by their sorceries. He witnessed 
their sufferings, and, to prove himself a true 
servant of the gods, derided and jeered the holy 
martyrs until their souls passed to their eternal 
reward. 

Having thus saved his worthless life, and 


PALMS. 


517 


being without means to sustain it, averse to hon- 
est toil, and a stranger in Rome, he was without 
friends, without shelter, and perishing for food. 
At this crisis of his fate he was approached by 
the emissaries of a lady of rank who wished to 
hire him on conditions which she alone would 
impart; and they were not mistaken when they 
counted on his necessities for his abject and un- 
qualified assent. He had no scruples; his price 
was protection and good pay; hence he betrayed 
no hesitation when he learned from the lips of 
the beautiful woman, to whom he blindly swore 
unconditional obedience, that he was to assassi- 
nate a certain profligate young patrician, whose 
love she had trifled with, encouraged, and re- 
jected, and who out of revenge had threatened 
to blazon abroad a secret that involved her 
honor, which by some means he had possessed 
himself of. A few days later the body of the 
unfortunate youth was found under the deep 
arch of the main entrance to his own palace, 
with a single wound, so small that it scarcely 
left a mark, inflicted by a keen, slender weapon, 
which penetrated his heart through and 
through. * 

Do we recognize in these two partners in crime 
Laodice and the wily Cypriot, and at last under- 
stand the hold she had on him? For, although 
as guilty as himself, he well knew there would 

* In mediaeval times in Italy, the hired professional assas- 
sins were known as “Bravos.” 


PALMS. 


518 

be none to believe or defend him should a per- 
son of her wealth and consequence denounce 
him. As her slave, she protected and learned to 
confide in him; while he, as patient as he was 
wily, bided his time. Thus the tie that united 
these two in the bonds of iniquity is explained. 

The true motive of the Cypriot in addressing 
the two catechumens was that he heard them 
speak of the noble Deacon Nemesius, whom 
they were going to meet, and he felt that his op- 
portunity to win a rich reward, and release from 
Laodice’s service — she had promised it — was at 
hand; for, could they be persuaded to let him 
accompany them, he would see with his own 
eyes, and be able at last to report something 
conclusive. 

The youths now stopped before a narrow door 
in a wall which enclosed one of the palace gar- 
dens; a single low tap was responded to inside 
by the withdrawing of a bolt; the door was 
cautiously opened, and the three entered. Grop- 
ing through long, dimly-lighted corridors, they 
joined the little assembly of catechumens, old 
and young, who at the invitation of Nemesius 
met in one of the lower apartments of his own 
palace at stated times, where he instructed them 
in the .mysteries of the Christian faith. 

He was now standing before his eager listen- 
ers, explaining, in simple, logical, fervent words, 
the Sacrament of holy Baptism, when his eyes 
met those of the new-comer, who involuntarily 


PALMS. 


5 I 9 


shrunk before the dignity of his presence and 
the manly, spiritualized beauty of his counten- 
ance. But the thought that at last he had the 
noble Christian in his toils quickly restored the 
vile creature’s self-control, and he stood with 
downcast eyes, listening to the words of divine 
truth with apparently the most humble and ab- 
sorbed attention. The instruction closed with a 
fervent invocation to the Most Holy Trinity for 
the grace of enlightenment and perseverance, 
the Pater Noster , and a prayer to the Virgo 
Mater Salvator is , Advocata Nostra. 

The strange neophyte was then led forward 
and introduced to Nemesius, who welcomed him 
with Christian charity, asked no questions, but 
said a few words of encouragement, and invited 
him to come again; but this, it is needless to 
say, was his last appearance. 

Eaodice was sunk in the depths of a gloomy, 
retrospective mood, when the Cypriot, with his 
usual stealthy step, came into her presence to 
report his success. She had been thinking how 
deceitful and shallow was the sparkle of life, 
how swiftly it had vanished, and how worthless 
and bitter it had been made by the ruthless dis- 
appointment of her love for the only man to- 
wards whom she had felt a sentiment exalted 
enough — as she thought — to raise her to its own 
height. With an heredity of the cruel blood of 
Egypt, the crafty blood of Greece, and the hot 
blood of Italy mingling in her veins, is it a won- 


520 


PALMS. 


der that her passionate pagan heart now hated as 
intensely as it had loved? 

When she heard all that her slave had to re- 
port, and that revenge was at last in her power, 
a sudden thrill, as if a cold snake had suddenly 
glided down her back, almost arrested for a 
brief instant the functions of life — but it was 
only an instant — then followed reaction, with 
fiery impulses kindled at the altar of Nemesis; 
her face glowed, her eyes flashed, and, com- 
mending the vile Cypriot for his vigilance and 
faithfulness in her service, she gave him a purse 
of gold and dismissed him; for she would lose 
no time. Then, arraying herself with splendor 
that rivalled Esther’s, when, glowing and superb 
in her dark, queenly beauty, she appeared, with 
a far different object, before King Assuerus, 
Kaodice entered the Emperor’s ante-chamber, 
asking audience with him, which he readily 
granted, hoping that she brought him some 
amusement. 

It would be vain to attempt to depict Vale- 
rian’s rage when he learned that Nemesius had 
become a Christian — Nemesius, the only man 
whom he had found incorruptible, in whom he 
had placed implicit trust, and for whom he felt 
such friendship as a nature like his was capable of. 
Laodice herself retreated precipitately from the 
diabolical tempest she had raised; and the Em- 
peror’s attendants, as well as many persons of 
rank who were awaiting audience, fled or con- 


PALMS. 521 

cealed themselves, lest in his maniacal fury he 
might slay them. 

The moment he recovered possession of his 
reason, an order was issued for the arrest of 
“Nemesius, late commander of the Imperial Le- 
gion, now a traitor to Rome, and a defamer of 
the gods.” Before noon the infamous accusa- 
tion was placarded on every wall in Rome, caus- 
ing a sensation from palace to camp, and wher- 
ever the noble commander was known. Swiftly 
the news penetrated the Catacombs, and reached 
the ears of the Pontiff Stephen, who dispatched 
messengers to summon Nemesius to his presence. 

The holy deacon was found out on the Agro 
Romano, aiding and consoling the destitute fam- 
ilies of several fever-stricken quarry workers. 
When informed of the edict for his arrest, he 
straightened himself to his full stature, looked 
heavenward for a moment with a grave, sweet 
smile, and an exultant light in his eyes, as if the 
glory of things unseen had shone upon them, 
then without a word returned to his ministrations 
of mercy. When he had done all that was pos- 
sible for the relief of the suffering ones, he hast- 
ened away, and quickly reached the dilapidated 
wine-shop of Galeotto, in the cellar of which, it 
will be remembered, there was an entrance to 
the interminable galleries of the Catacombs. 
Happily, Admetus had gone with him to the huts 
of the quarry men, bearing wine and food, and 
now accompanied him as his guide through those 


522 


PALMS. 


tortuous, subterranean passages, with every wind- 
ing of which he was familiar. 

The Pontiff awaited him with anxiety, and 
was overjoyed when he appeared. The interview 
was affecting and consoling. “The time ap- 
proaches for our deliverance from our prison- 
house of clay, to reign with Him who by His 
Passion and Death made us His heirs in the 
Kingdom of Heaven forever, ’ ’ said the holy man. 
“Thou art impatient for the final victory by the 
shedding of thy blood for the love of Him; but, 
Nemesius, He has set the supreme law of charity 
above all Christian virtues; therefore be patient, 
for His persecuted Church needs thy help, and in 
serving His Spouse thou wilt best serve Him. It 
is more glorious to be found working His will in 
holy obedience than to rush unbidden upon the 
sword. Show thyself no more in the streets of 
Rome by day; I can not yet spare my deacon. 
In the mean time the youth Admetus will be thy 
messenger. ’ ’ 

The military habits of Nemesius had taught 
him the importance of obedience as an auxiliary 
to martial success, but he had never yet waited 
to be first attacked by the enemy; and it not 
only irked his heroic nature, but grieved him, by 
delaying the eternal and ineffable victory for 
which he sighed. Still, he submitted with do- 
cile spirit to the divine authority invested in the 
visible head of the Church, Christ’s Vicar on 
earth, putting self and every human considera- 
tion entirely aside. 


PALMS. 


523 


Camilla, being one of the ladies of the impe- 
rial household, heard almost as soon as it hap- 
pened of the Emperor’ s discovery that Nemesius 
was a Christian, and of his mad fury on the oc- 
casion. She lost not a moment, but was on her 
way to the villa on the Aventine before the order 
for his arrest was promulgated. Having reached 
it, she went straight to Symphronius, informed 
him of what had happened, then, in her usual 
energetic way, with his assistance, dispersed and 
placed in safe-keeping Claudia’s orphaned pen- 
sioners, and had the sick and disabled adults re- 
moved to the sheep-farms and olive lands, that 
lay some distance farther back among the hills. 
Her precautions were well timed ; for that very 
night the villa was surrounded by soldiers, whose 
orders were not to molest the daughter of Neme- 
sius,- meaning her to be the decoy-bird that 
should lead the fond father, anxious and uncer- 
tain as to her safety, to his home by night, or 
through secret ways by day; and if eventually 
he were discovered, both were to be arrested. 

“Thou wilt see him again, dear child; until 
then meet him at the foot of the Cross with 
Mary, our Advocate, who consoles and delivers 
all who suffer for the love of Her Son,” said 
Camilla, when, having accomplished what pru- 
dence suggested, she had gone in to Claudia, to 
acquaint her, as gently as the cruel facts of the 
case admitted, with the cause of her visit, and 
try to sweeten the bitterness of her grief by the 
consolations of faith. 


524 


PALMS. 


She drew in the weeping child tenderly to her 
bosom, but sought not to check her tears, for 
she surmised — and truly — that it was the pain 
of separation from her father that most grieved 
her, and that she longed only for his presence to 
suffer with him. 

“Yes,” she answered, presently, making a 
brave effort to compose herself: “that is where 
his thoughts will be, and there, too, shall mine 
be — at His feet, with His Holy Mother. O Ca- 
milla! is it sinful to weep?” 

“No, my little maid, not tears like thine. 
The divine Christus often wept; He was ac- 
quainted with all human sorrow; and it is His 
way to let affliction visit his dearest ones, that 
they may prove by their patience and resignation 
how much they love Him, how blindly they 
trust Him, knowing that His ways are the best. 
And, after all,” she said, as if answering some 
thought of her own, “there’s but a breath be- 
tween this land of exile and heaven.” 

The faith of this noble woman, sure and stead- 
fast, ever rested on Christ as unwaveringly as an 
eagle’s eye upon the sun; He was her celestial 
Sun, in whose light she lived, moved, and had 
her being, fearless in whatever she undertook for 
His honor, and willing to suffer death for His 
glory — a brave, tender, heroic spirit. 

Camilla remained until the little girl grew 
more tranquil — until her sorrow and its mist 
of tears were glorified by hope in the eternal 


PALMS. 


525 


promises of Him on whom her innocent soul 
rested; then the lady left her, with great pity 
and love surging together in her heart for the 
human desolation that had, all at once, fallen 
upon the child. It is true that Zilla was there; 
but what had her poor, grieved, pagan heart to 
offer her idol, except endearments? what to give, 
except vigilance and devotion, and the hatred 
and revenge that inspired her towards those who 
had brought mourning and weeping into this 
beautiful and lately happy home ? The woman 
was nearly mad with grief. 

Days passed, and Nemesius had not yet been 
taken. The two Consuls, Quirinus and Maxi- 
mus — on whom devolved the duty of his arrest, 
with the comfortable assurance that they should 
suffer in his stead in case they failed — strained 
every nerve, and were ceaseless in their vigilance 
and zeal to secure their object. And there was 
yet another — the wily Cypriot — who, unknown 
to them, and with greedy eyes on the reward 
offered by the prefect, was stealthily, patiently 
engaged in hunting down the noble Christian. 

The spirits of the two cruel Consuls began to 
flag, and the ardor of their pursuit to be damp- 
ened, as time sped on and there was yet no sign 
of their victim ; they almost believed the culprit 
had slipped away from Rome, else how could he 
have so long eluded their search? But Neme- 
sius had not left Rome; he was in the Cata- 
combs, ever engaged in ministrations of mercy, 


PALMS. 


526 

and daily sent and received loving messages from 
his little daughter on the Aventine, by Adme- 
tus, who, as lithe as a lizard, and as active as a 
squirrel, had ways of slipping in and out of the 
extensive gardens in the most surprising man- 
ner, eluding the vigilance of the soldiers on 
guard day and night, who, if they heard a rust- 
ling in the trees overhead, thought it was the 
birds darting in and out; or a tremulous stir 
among the long grasses and undergrowth at 
night, thought it was a hare, the sound was so 
slight and passed so swiftly. 

Cheered by hearing from her father, and the 
certainty that he was in a place of safety, 
Claudia’s thoughts in her loneliness were drawn 
nearer and nearer to the Celestial Tand; closer 
and closer did her innocent heart cling to the 
divine Chris tus and His Virgin Mother. There 
was such an atmosphere of purity around her, 
that, now and then, when a rough, half-barbar- 
ian soldier, from his covert of espial, caught a 
glimpse of her white-robed, graceful figure as 
she passed fearlessly through the garden-alleys 
to the places she loved, he would draw back 
with an involuntary movement of reverence 
until she went by. 

But at last, when the soft September sun lay 
golden on the beautiful land — when on the 
slopes of the hills and over the undulating, flow- 
ery stretches of the Agro Romano were seen pro- 
cessions of peasants in holiday attire, bringing 


PALMS. 


527 


home the grapes from the vineyards to the wine- 
vats, with Bacchic songs and choral lays, accom- 
panied by the music of double flutes, zithers, and 
pipes of reed, their wagons loaded with baskets, 
in which the great red and purple clusters of the 
delicious fruit of the vine were heaped up, cov- 
ered with blossoms; while the sleek oxen, gar- 
landed with scarlet poppies, vetches, and corn- 
flowers, moved lazily along — the end drew near, 
and the events that followed, given in the ‘‘Acts 
of the Martyrs ’ ’ and by tradition, succeeded each 
other with such rapidity that we may not linger. 

One gloomy, lowering night Nemesius had 
left his underground ‘ ‘ City of Refuge ’ ’ to carry 
aid and consolation to certain sick and destitute 
Christians, who were living in concealment in 
the cellar of a hovel in the old southern suburb 
of Rome. Having accomplished his charitable 
purpose, he was returning, his thoughts so ab- 
sorbed by celestial meditation that he did not 
observe the direction he had taken, until a strong 
light suddenly glared athwart his eyes. Startled, 
he halted, looked around, and saw that he was 
at the Temple of Mars, where at that moment 
Quirinus and Maximus, with others, were offer- 
ing their idolatrous and unholy worship to the 
marble statue of the god. His soul revolted at 
the imposture, which was an insult to the su- 
preme and only true God. Single-handed he 
had no power to stay the impure rites; but, 
knowing the efficacy of faith and charity, he 


PALMS. 


528 

knelt on the stone-flagged road, and, lifting up 
his heart in strong appeal, he besought Our Lord 
by the operation of the Holy Ghost to enlighten 
the minds of these idolaters, that they might 
know they were worshipping devils instead of 
divinities; and so bring them to a knowledge of 
the Faith as it is in Christ. 

At this moment, while Nemesius is beseeching 
God’s mercy on their benighted souls, the Consul 
Maximus, a cruel persecutor of the Christians, 
was possessed by the evil spirit, and suddenly 
cried out, in the hearing of all present: “The 
prayers of Nemesius are burning me!” 

The Cypriot, who had been stealthily creeping 
behind Nemesius for some short distance, hav- 
ing accidentally caught sight of his majestic 
figure at a moment when, for a wonder, he was 
not thinking of him, and convinced when the 
light from the Temple shone out upon him that 
it was indeed he, ran in and informed the Con- 
sul Quirinus that Nemesius had fallen into his 
hands, and was outside invoking his Deity, and 
working Christian sorceries for their destruction. 
They rushed out to seize him, but had no sooner 
laid hands upon him, than Maximus gave forth 
a shriek such as lost souls in the depths of per- 
dition may be supposed to utter, and, to the hor- 
ror of all present, was lifted several feet in the 
air, then hurled down upon the stone pavement, 
dead.* This swift judgment of God on the 

* It is so related by the Rev. A. J. O’Reilly, D. D., in his 
“Victims of the Mamertine.” 


PALMS. 


529 


hardened persecutor of His suffering Church 
was but one of many manifestations of His 
almighty vengeance on His enemies; but they 
did not impute them to Him, but to the sorceries 
and magic arts of the Christians. 

Nemesius made no attempt to escape in the 
temporary panic and confusion caused by the 
terrible death of Maximus,, but suffered himself 
to be bound and led away to the Mamertine, 
where he was cast into one of the lower dun- 
geons. When his capture was reported to the 
Emperor, the latter cried out: 

“Now shall the gods be avenged! Torture and 
death will be nothing to this man ; we will reach 
him and rend him through his child, the pretty, 
dainty maid! Bring him before the tribunal in 
the morning, and if he refuse to sacrifice to Ju- 
piter, give her in charge tp the courtesan Eippa, 
and remand him to the Mamertine. ’ ’ Then he 
returned to his wine and feasting and his lewd 
pleasures. 

Fabian had confidential agents in his pay em- 
ployed to find out and report to him everything 
they might learn concerning Nemesius; and the 
morning after his arrest the first news he heard 
on leaving his bath was that the commander of 
the Imperial Eegion had been taken and cast into 
the dungeons of the Mamertine. The sun was 
barely risen, but, ordering his horse, he dressed 
quickly, and, without breaking his fast, was 
soon galloping along the road to the Aventine. 


530 


PALMS. 


The scene that greeted him when he reached 
the villa, although not entirely unexpected, ver- 
ified his worst forebodings, and kindled in his 
breast a concentrated fire of rage and grief which 
for the moment held him speechless; for on the 
portico, surrounded by rough soldiers, who had 
been sent to bring her away, stood the beautiful 
child, attired in a dainty, silver-broidered tunic 
and white silken robe — she had expected Camilla 
to breakfast with her — her face like purest mar- 
ble, her fine abundant hair falling in golden rip- 
ples over her shoulders. A clasp of pearls con- 
fined her tunic on the shoulder, and around her 
neck she wore the fine chain of gold to which 
was suspended the crystal medallion of the Vir- 
gin Mother, Advocata Nostra , that now lay close 
against her wildly-throbbing heart. 

This was the first scene of violence Claudia’s 
innocent eyes had ever beheld. Did she think, 
as she gave one frightened look at the stolid, 
coarse, merciless faces of the soldiers, of what 
Fabian had once said to her when she was blind 
— that “there are in the world human monsters 
and beings so frightful as to make one rather 
wish to have been born blind than to see them ? ’ ’ 
If she did, it was but a flash of memory; for her 
heart swiftly turned towards the divine Christus 
at the moment He was betrayed into the hands 
of His enemies, and she remembered her words 
to Camilla when she heard how they took Him 
away to crucify Him: “If I had been there, I 


PALMS. 


531 


would have asked them to kill me, and spare 
Him ; ’ ’ and now she did not falter, but offered 
herself again to Him, although shrinking in all 
her nature from the cruel, brutal wretches in 
whose midst she stood. Zilla and Symphronius 
had pleaded and wept in vain for her release, but 
were driven away with curses and threats, and 
now from a distance watched through their fast- 
falling tears for the end, which they were pow- 
erless to avert. 

The soldiers were preparing to lead their vic- 
tim away, when Fabian, dismounting from his 
horse, pushed his way through them, and, reach- 
ing her side, took her hand and drew her to him. 

“What does this mean?” he cried, his voice 
stem, his countenance frowning. ‘ ‘ Fay not a 
touch upon her, ye base hounds! or there’ll be 
but a short step between ye and hell. ’ ’ 

They hesitated, for as soldiers they were ac- 
customed to yield instant attention to the voice 
of authority; but their lieutenant, an old, griz- 
zled veteran, commanded them to close in and 
obey orders. 

“Whose orders?” demanded Fabian. 

“The Emperor’s. And who may est thou be 
to gainsay them?” was the curt, angry reply. 

“A friend of the Emperor’s,” was Fabian’s 
quick response. As a Roman, well versed in the 
laws, he knew the weight of an imperial order, 
and the penalties attached to disobedience. 
“There is some mistake. Why should the Em- 
peror order the arrest of a child like this?” 


532 


PALMS. 


“She is a Christian,” answered the lieutenant, 
with a grim laugh. 

“Yes, Fabian, it is true: I am a Christian,” 
outspoke the child, in clear, sweet tones. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! foolish lamb, to run thy head into the 
shambles!” he whispered, knowing but too well 
how helpless he was to save. ‘ ‘ How wilt thou 
convey her hence ? ” he asked the officer. 

‘ ‘ Our prisoners walk. ’ ’ 

“What are thy instructions in this case?” 

“We have none.” 

“Then it will not matter. Symphronius, ” he 
cried, “come hither, old man, and bring out thy 
dead lady’s litter for her child. And here, ye 
fellows, I will give ye silver for a carouse when 
off guard to-night,” he said, with a furious 
scorn, as he threw his purse asnong them. 

The once elegant litter, its rick silken curtains 
now faded and dust-covered, its splendors of 
gilding and fine decorations mildewed and nib- 
bled to tatters by mice, was brought forth, and, 
after arranging the cushions for her comfort, 
Fabian tenderly lifted Claudia in, leaned over 
and kissed her forehead, drew the curtains to- 
gether, and moved away. 

“If questioned,” he said to the astonished sol- 
diers, “as ye go through the city, answer that 
ye are conveying a noble Roman virgin to be 
sacrificed to the gods, and guarding her as 
Roman soldiers now guard innocence. ’ ’ 

His sense of inability to rescue her from her 


PALMS. 


533 


fate, stung and enraged him; he had done all he 
could, but how little! He mounted his horse, 
galloped down the broad, beautiful avenue, and 
out of the wide-open gates, careless whither the 
mettlesome animal bore him, so that it was 
away from Rome. 

On the following day Nemesius was led before 
the tribunal and questioned by the judge, the 
examination being attended by all the formali- 
ties usual on such occasions; for the iniquitous 
proceedings had to be draped with a semblance 
of legality, to subject the Roman laws to the 
despotic will of the reigning tyrant. Nemesius’ 
answers were firm, and worded with such sim- 
plicity that it was impossible to misunderstand 
them. He declared himself a Christian; he re- 
fused to sacrifice to the gods; he expressed his 
strong abhorrence of idolatry, and, when threat- 
ened, made answer that he coveted no higher 
blessing than to be permitted to seal his faith in 
Jesus Christ by the shedding of his blood. 

‘ ‘ Despite thy wicked obstinacy, the Emperor 
is inclined to be merciful, Nemesius, and will 
afford thee time for more reasonable thoughts 
before sentence is pronounced ; meanwhile it may 
console thee to know to whose keeping he has 
confided thy daughter,” said the judge, with a 
malignant sneer; but he held back the informa- 
tion that every effort was to be made by her new 
protector to corrupt the child’s mind, and force 
her to worship the gods. “ Wouldst thou see for 
thyself?” 


534 


PALMS. 


“My daughter! — what of her?” exclaimed 
Nemesius, starting, as he glanced around. 

“Go look from yonder open casement into the 
court below; she is there, unless they have re- 
moved her,” responded the judge. “Make way 
for him, soldiers. ’ ’ 

The soldiers moved back, and, attended by his 
guards, Nemesius quickly reached the window, 
and, on looking down, beheld a sight which 
nearly froze his blood. There, surrounded by 
soldiers, her soft, dimpled hand in the grip of a 
bold-faced, flaunting woman of remarkable size 
and stature, stood his little Claudia. They had 
not stripped off* the pretty dress in which she had 
that morning arrayed herself to welcome Ca- 
milla; and, with the sunlight upon her golden 
hair and her spotless white attire, she looked 
like a fair lily in some savage morass, or, what 
is more true, a celestial spirit surrounded by 
demons. Nemesius heard the woman’s loud, 
coarse laugh, as low, ribald jests were bandied 
between herself and the soldiers. And now, 
while his eyes rested horror-stricken on this 
scene, obeying some signal, they led her away, 
his innocent one — led her away, for what and 
with whom? 

“What woman is that with the child?” he 
asked, almost suffocated with emotion. 

‘ ‘ That, ’ ’ answered the soldier, with a grin, ‘ ‘ is 
I^ipP a i the Cyprian; thou hast heard of her, may- 
hap?” 


PALMS. 


535 


Aye, lie had heard of her as a disturber of the 
peace, a betrayer of innocence, the most infa- 
mous woman in Rome, whose house was a resort 
of the vilest characters. Could it be that his pure 
child was to become the inmate of such a den, 
and under such tutelage as Lippa’s? Could 
fiendish malignity go further? A storm of na- 
tural emotion surged through the strong, noble 
soul of Nemesius, almost rending his heart. 
Had they broken his body by slow tortures on 
the rack, torn his flesh with hot pincers, beaten 
him with spiked clubs — none of these could have 
equalled the inexpressible anguish caused by the 
sad condition of his child. He thought of the 
cruel treatment she would receive, the horrible 
suggestions she would be obliged to listen to; 
and might they not succeed by their devilish arts 
in corrupting her innocence? Oh, bitter cup for 
a man like this to drink! Oh, terrible assault of 
nature and hell to shake the integrity of his soul ! 

It was but a little while that the dark shadow 
eclipsed his spirit; and, although the pain was 
not removed, he, remembering in whom he 
trusted, offered her to Him, and implored the 
protection of His Virgin Mother for his innocent 
one. She had disappeared from his view; he 
turned away from the casement and faced his 
enemies, who waited with fiendish glee and curi- 
osity to see and exult ever the effects of their 
cruel and malicious work; but his grave, majestic 
countenance gave forth no sign of the passion of 


PALMS. 


536 

pain that had torn his heart; his tongue, no word. 
His lips, perhaps more firmly set, and a gray 
pallor overspreading his face, were all that but 
faintly expressed his agony. 

“Cruel parent! ” cried the judge, as Nemesius 
one more resumed the criminal’s place on the 
catasta; “will thou not, even to rescue thy beau- 
tiful child from a fate like that which awaits her, 
cast a few grains of incense into the brazier?” 

‘ ‘ She and I are in the hands of Him who cre- 
ated and redeemed us; He is strong to deliver 
her out of the jaws of the devouring wolves to 
whom ye have cast her, and to punish forever in 
hell those who would destroy His innocent one. 
Again I say, I will not burn incense to idols, ’ ’ 
answered Nemesius, with such majesty and im- 
pressive determination that the judge fairly 
cowered; for it occurred to him that there had 
been many terrible examples of what the prayers 
of the Christians could bring down upon their 
persecutors; had not Nemesius himself only yes- 
terday killed Maximus, the consul, by his in- 
cantations ? 

‘ ‘ Her fate and thy own be upon thy head ! ’ ’ 
said the judge. “Soldiers, back with him to 
the Mamertine! ” 

In the solitude of his dungeon, Nemesius 
prostrated himself on the rough, slimy floor, 
and, pouring out his tears, lifted up his heart 
with intense fervor and unshaken faith to God, 
and besought Him to deliver his child out of the 


PALMS. 


537 


pit prepared for her destruction by the malice of 
idolaters. From the fetid depths of this place 
of sorrow, cleaving through its impervious walls, 
swiftly arose his prayers to Heaven, and soon 
was his resignation rewarded beyond all human 
conception. 

We will follow Claudia as, full of fear, she was 
led by Tippa to her house. Making her way 
through the rabble — there was always a rough 
crowd hanging around her door — that pressed 
forward to stare and ask questions which she 
disdained to answer, and, without relaxing her 
grasp on the child’s tender hand, she passed 
quickly through the vestibule into a room, where 
several men — wrestlers, gladiators, and a soldier 
or two off duty — were gathered around a table, 
noisily engaged in a game of micare digitis ,* 
their stake a bottle of wine. “ Tutti ” had just 
been shouted, and wild excitement prevailed; 
for there had been a fraudulent count of thumbs. 
Oaths, frantic gesticulations, a wild uproar of 
voices, and flashing knives, were the sounds and 
sights that greeted the innocent, sensitive child. 

Fippa called to them to clear out, fearing the 
carouse would end in some one being murdered, 
and the reputation of her house be thereby 
ruined. They turned their heads at her voice, 

* The oldest game of chance then known. It was brought 
from Egypt to Greece, thence to Italy, where, under the 
name of Mora , it is as popular now as then. Its name sig- 
nifies flashing of the fingers. 


PALMS. 


538 

and at once their attention was attracted by the 
beautiful, richly-dressed young girl clinging to 
her hand. One more daring than the others 
rushed towards her, but a well-aimed blow of 
Lippa’s sinewy fist caught him between the eyes 
with such violence that he staggered backward. 
Claudia shrieked and clung to the woman, who 
had not delivered the blow in defence of the 
child, but because she feared that Gnercino 
might wrench the jewel from her tunic, or the 
glittering chain from her neck, knowing what 
adroit thieves the men were who infested her 
drinking-rooms. 

The depraved woman felt the child’s arms 
clinging around her, the delicate, trembling 
form pressed against her, and it touched some 
far-off buried memory of the days of her own 
youth and innocence. But the reflection was 
transitory; it awoke no pity in her now callous 
heart towards the gentle little creature, to whom 
she spoke harshly, and shook off. Then, lead- 
ing her into a small, gloomy room reeking with 
unsavory smells, she stripped off her beautiful 
garments, secreted the pearl clasp and gold chain 
in her own bosom, clothed her in the cast-off, 
dirty dress of a slave, then went away, fastening 
the door on the outside. 

Finding herself alone at last, a stream of 
tears flowed from Claudia’s eyes, sobs convulsed 
her breast, and the only ray of consolation she 
had was in calling upon the Holy Name of Him 


PALMS. 


539 


who was enshrined in her pure heart. Was this 
suffering for Him ? Then welcome. It was not 
death, but would He be well pleased if she bore 
it patiently for the love of Him? Then for His 
sake she would make no moan, and she offered 
herself to Him to suffer as He pleased; all she 
asked was His love, and grace to resist evil, and 
to be at last with Him. Happily she was igno- 
rant of the nature of the perils that environed 
her, and a sweet composure stole over her. 
When at night some coarse crusts and a cup of 
water were brought to her, although nature 
turned from them in disgust, she tried to eat; 
and when later she was ordered to go into a 
close closet to sleep on a heap of rags and other 
refuse, she lay down in peace, knowing that the 
dear Christus was her refuge, and would watch 
while she slept. She thought of her father with 
tender affection, happy to know — as she imag- 
ined — that he was in safety in the Catacombs. 

And so this lovely, sensitive child, who had 
been reared in softest luxury, and guarded from 
every word, sound or sight that could shock or 
sully her stainless innocence, was, for her faith 
in Christ, cast down into the very depths of 
human cruelty and depravity, where every effort 
the enemy of souls could suggest to his human 
instruments was to be put into operation to cor- 
rupt her, and force her to return to the worship 
of idols. But the language of depravity and 
lewdness was as incomprehensible to her as if 


540 


PALMS. 


she had suddenly been transported to a distant 
and barbarous land, while many things she was 
compelled to look upon frightened and sickened 
her with instinctive disgust. 

Day after day new trials beset the little hero- 
ine; she was required to burn incense before a 
statue of Hercules, the favorite deity of the 
house, and commanded to deny Christ; refusing 
to do so, she was beaten, and sent to work with 
the slaves. Nothing that could wound or fill 
her with horror was spared; Dippa often left her 
without food, but the brave little heart never 
faltered, and at last — as it is related — her heav- 
enly patience, her sweetness and innocence, 
touched the savage natures of her persecutors, 
who began to feel ashamed of their depravity and 
cruelty. 

There was one of Dippa’s women, a coarse, 
handsome creature, who had at first been the 
harshest and most wicked of them all in her as- 
saults on the brave Christian child, but who now, 
grown softer and kinder, spared and protected 
her whenever it was in her power to do so. Her 
name was Cypria, and day by day the influence 
of Claudia’s example impressed her more deeply. 
One evening Cypria questioned her as to the 
name and rank of her father. It was the first 
time any one had spoken to her on the sub- 
ject, and she answered readily, with tears in her 
eyes: 

“My father is named Nemesius; he was the 


PALMS. 54I 

commander of the Imperial Legion, but now he 
is a soldier of Christ. ’ ’ 

“Oh! is it indeed so? Art thou the child of 
that brave officer who once saved me from Cec- 
co’s knife just as he was about to cut my throat? ” 
cried the woman, falling at Claudia’s feet, kiss- 
ing and bathing them with her tears. “And 
now thou leadest me to a better life. I, too, will 
be a Christian. Teach me; forgive me!” 

They were alone. Claudia lifted up the 
woman’s wet face, kissed off her tears, and ex- 
claimed, joyfully: “I will tell thee about the dear 
Christus, and He will lead thee, and His Virgin 
Mother will be thy Advocate. ’ ’ 

“Oh! will They. not spurn me for my wicked 
life? Oh! there is no evil that I have not done!” 
she cried. 

“No: for such as thee, too, did He suffer 
death,” she answered, in soft tones. “Oh! no, 
Cypria ; He loves thee with everlasting love, and 
He will welcome thee to His fold. By and by, 
when my father comes to take me away from this 
dreadful place, thou shalt go with us to one who 
will give thee Holy Baptism, and instruct thee 
better than I can ; for I am only a child. ’ ’ 

Later . Cypria told her that a pale woman, 
bowed with sorrow, came to the door every day, 
praying for tidings of her; but she was always 
driven away, and ordered not to come again; 
still on the morrow she was there at the same 
hour, asking the same sad questions, which were 


542 


PALMS. 


answered only by gibes and insults and derisive 
laughter. 

“I know that it is my nurse, Zilla, who has 
been a mother to me ever since I was born. O 
kind Cypria! see her, and give her my love; and 
tell her that I am well, and that no harm has 
befallen me; for the dear Christ has sent His 
angels to watch over and guard me,” she said, 
her countenance irradiated with such a soft light 
that the woman turned to see whence it came. 

Cypria promised, and kept her word ; for it was, 
indeed, the broken-hearted Zilla. 

The very next day Fabian was summoned to 
the Emperor’s presence. He would have disre- 
garded the mandate had it been possible; for his 
very soul revolted at the thought of him. He 
had a motive, however — although he was not 
hopeful as to its results — which induced him to 
obey, instead of going with all speed to Ostia, to 
embark on his galley and put out to sea, as he 
had at first resolved. 

Valerian, on the other hand, having learned 
that there was ill feeling among the soldiery on 
account of the arrest of Nemesius, who was their 
idol, and the cruel fate of his lovely child, had 
grown uneasy, and resolved to manifest a desire 
to be merciful, which, if rejected by Nemesius, 
would throw upon his own head the responsibil- 
ity of all that should follow. 

Fabian was at once conducted to the Emperor, 
whom he found alone in his private cabinet. 


PALMS. 


543 


After the usual salutations, the imperial tyrant, 
fixing his cruel eyes on Fabian’s countenance as 
if he would read his very soul, said: 

u It is needless for me to relate what has be- 
fallen Nemesius through his own perversity, as 
thou art doubtless informed. ’ ’ 

“I know all,” answered Fabian. 

“Thou knovtest that I confided in and honored 
Nemesius above all men, until he ungratefully 
betrayed both my friendship and trust, by giving 
himself up to the delusions of magic, and united 
himself with the enemies of the gods for the 
overthrow of religion and the destruction of the 
State — both capital offences,” continued the 
Emperor, affecting a dignified and injured tone; 
“but, even so, I am disposed to be merciful, and 
to use every possible effort to recall him to his 
senses. Therefore, knowing thy life-long inti- 
macy with him, it has occurred to me that, if 
thou wilt take the matter in hand, he may be 
induced to heed thy persuasions, and be suf- 
ficiently amenable to reason to recant his folly; 
in which case he will be restored to his military 
rank, to his child, and to the enjoyment of his 
possessions. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ It would be but time wasted, Imperator, for 
me to attempt such a thing; for, although Neme- 
sius has, in my judgment, done a most foolish 
thing, and I have made use of every argument 
to dissuade him, he, being a man of great in- 
tegrity and uprightness, and of a singularly 


544 


FAL,MS. 


noble sincerity of mind, does only that which 
appears to him right solely on conviction; there- 
fore it is right, in this case, for him to have 
acted just as he has,” said Fabian, with gravity. 

“What! right that he should become a Chris- 
tian ? ’ ’ angrily cried the Emperor. 

“Yes, right even to that extreme, from his 
point of view; and, such being the fact, and I 
having failed to convince him to the contrary, a 
fresh attempt on my part would be needless in- 
sult — it would be as vain,” said Fabian, with a 
bitter laugh, “as the efforts of Enceladus, who 
with a mountain pressing upon him, throws 
rocks at the gods, which all fall short of their 
aim.” 

“Perhaps thou sharest his delusion?” cried 
Valerian, enraged; “if not, prove it by casting 
spices in yonder brazier before the statue of Mer- 
cury. ’ ’ 

“A measure if thou wilt; not only here, but 
before every deity in Rome! ” exclaimed Fabian, 
with suppressed fury, as he strode to the spot, 
and threw a handful of frankincense on the 
glowing coals, which instantly filled the room 
with a cloud of aromatic smoke, that was at the 
same time pungent and suffocating, 

So fitful are the moods of tyrants that, al- 
though coughing violently, and nearly suffocated 
by the incense — which, being a religious prince, 
he always kept on hand for his private devotions, 
as well as for emergencies like the present — 


PALMS. 


545 


Valerian laughed as soon as he recovered his 
breath; and, his good humor restored, he told 
Fabian that he had abundantly satisfied him of 
the sincerity of his fidelity to the gods. In the 
midst of the smoke Fabian wished he had been 
mor$ prudent, fearing that he had marred the 
success of the object he had in view; but, reas- 
sured by Valerian’s extraordinary mood, he 
thought the moment was propitious. 

“Imperator,” he said, U I wish, with thy 
gracious permission, to submit a proposition to 
thee. ’ ’ 

“I am willing to serve thee, Fabian; name it.” 

“It is this. I offer to the treasury of the State 
one-half of my enormous wealth for the ransom 
of the child Claudia. I propose to adopt her as 
my own, and remove to Britannia Prima, where 
I have an estate.” 

“It is a generous offer — more than the spawn 
of a Christian is worth,” replied the scowling 
tyrant. “It depends on Nemesins himself 
whether or not the ransom will be accepted; for 
if he persists in his madness, he shall suffer 
through her to the end. ’ ’ 

“All, Imperator — all that I have, even my 
life, for both!” urged Fabian. 

A hoarse, rumbling laugh was Valerian’s an- 
swer to this noble offer. “By Fidius ! it is 
equal to anything in the tragedies of Euripides; 
but remember, Fabian, that this is real life, not 
a stage. ’ ’ 

18 


PALMS. 


546 

“Such things were once realities in Rome,” 
was the proud answer. 

‘ ‘ Thou knowest the only conditions on which 
Nemesius and his daughter will be spared,” re- 
turned the Emperor, rising. “I regret losing 
thy agreeable society; but, this being the hour I 
go to the Baths of Sallust, I must say farewell. ’ ’ 

Fabian, on being thus abruptly dismissed, 
bowed and withdrew. 

“The Cranes of Ibycns still fly, and will find 
thee at last, thou monster!” muttered Fabian, as 
he passed beyond the gilded leather curtain. 
His last hope destroyed, he returned dejectedly 
home and gave orders to be denied to all visitors. 

At last a day came when Claudia was to leave 
the infamous abode of Eippa. That morning 
everything had gone wrong with the depraved 
creature, and her fiery temper spared nothing 
that came in her way. She saw Claudia work- 
ing among the domestic slaves, called her, and 
ordered her to lift an article which it was beyond 
her strength to move, although in a spirit of 
sweet obedience she made an effort to do so. 
Eippa snatched up a scourge, and gave her a 
sharp cut across the shoulders; another lacerating 
blow was in the act of descending on the tender 
flesh, but was arrested by Cypria’s running in 
breathless, to announce that the “Emperor or 
the Prefect, or somebody, had come to take 
Claudia away.” 

“I’m glad enough to' dance!” exclaimed Eippa; 


PALMS. 


547 

“she has kept me in a fever ever since she has 
been under my roof, so that I’ve not had a night’s 
rest. Take her to the bath and put something 
clean on her before she goes. As for me, I’m 
going to gossip with my friend the barber, and 
then to the circus.” 

“Where am I going?” asked the weeping 
child in surprise. 

“To meet thy father, little one — one of the 
soldiers told me. Come, let us hasten,” said 
Cypria, leading her by the hand. ‘ ‘ I have some 
of thy own pretty garments, brought by thy nurse, 
hidden away ready for thee.” 

When the lash had stung Claudia’s tender 
flesh, and she had cried out with pain, she 
thought of the scourging of the divine Christus, 
and, though she wept bitter tears, in her heart 
she was glad to suffer a little as He did and for 
Him; and now, in union with this sorrow, she 
offered the joy that filled her at thought of meet- 
ing her father. Her golden hair once more fell 
in curls over her shoulders; refreshed by the 
bath, and some sweet salve with which Cypria 
anointed the crimson welt left by the scourge, 
and arrayed in her simple tunic and robe of 
white, embroidered with lilies, she looked a very 
image of purity and innocence. She thought not 
of the soldiers who guarded her, of the staring 
crowds, the rough stones of the street; for the 
celestial love that glowed in her heart, and the 
certainty that in a few moments she would be 


PALMS. 


548 

in her father’s arms, made her oblivious of all 
else. 

Nemesius met his child near the Temple of the 
Earth, to which both were being conducted, and 
where the tribunal sat that would pronounce the 
final sentence. In a moment she was clinging 
around his neck, while he embraced her fondly, 
and, aware of what was impending, could 
scarcely command his emotion; but this she did 
not observe, in her joy at once more seeing him. 

4 ‘ Thou wilt keep me close, my father, and not 
let them take me back to Lippa. Oh! it is a 
terrible place! — I must have died but for the love 
of the dear Christns, who comforted me, and the 
protection of His Holy Mother. Oh! let them 
kill me, only save me from Lippa! But, my 
father, there is one even in that dreadful den 
who wants to be a Christian — a woman whose 
life thou didst save when a wicked man had his 
knife ready to cut her throat. She was good to 
me after she heard I was thy little maid. Her 
name is Cypria,” said Claudia. 

“Fear not, sweet one, thou wilt not return to 
Lippa. May God reward with His choicest 
graces her who was kind to thee !” he answered, 
knowing what was at hand. Her words tore his 
heart, and he ‘ ‘ felt it a greater sacrifice to offer 
to God the impulses of revenge than the shed- 
ding of his own and his daughter’s blood.”* 


*The incidents now related of the martyrdom of Nemesius 
and his lovely child follow closely the account given by Dr. 
O’Reilly, gleaned by him from the “Acts of the Martyrs.” 


PALMS. 


549 


This offering, so pleasing to Almighty Eove, 
was succeeded by an unspeakable joy that flooded 
his soul at the constancy of his brave Claudia, 
and, leading her by the hand, he went in, serene 
and undaunted, before the tribunal of Valerian. 
He had laid aside forever the glittering trappings 
of his martial rank, and appeared in the graver 
habiliments of a Christian, his military peace- 
toga thrown about him. He was in the prime 
of a noble manhood, perfect in masculine beauty, 
tall and stately, and bearing in his presence a 
natural dignity, which now, as it had always 
done, commanded involuntary respect and admi- 
ration. Among the many present were several 
of his comrades in arms, who were touched with 
profound sympathy when they beheld their brave 
commander and his innocent child conducted to 
the criminal’s stand. 

Valerian, wearing his imperial robes, and 
crowned with a wreath of sweet olive, sat, con- 
spicuous and scowling, in his curule chair of 
ivory and gold, which was elevated on a dais 
several feet above the floor; soldiers, lictors, and 
priests of the idol to whom the Temple of the 
Earth was dedicated, surrounded him. The judge 
and other legal officials were in their places. 
Nemesius and his beautiful child stood on the 
catasta in view of every eye, and a breathless 
silence prevailed. Then spake the judge, with 
impressive solemnity: 

“Nemesius, where is that prudence always so 


550 


PALMS. 


conspicuous in thee, whose public career has 
ever been so illustrious in word and deed? Dost 
thou not think that we know what is good for 
thee, and will recommend it? We counsel thee, 
therefore, not to abandon the worship of the 
gods thou hast followed from thy childhood. ’ ’ 

The words of the judge were less than noth- 
ingness to Nemesius, who was contemplating the 
result of his refusal to sacrifice. Thought of the 
tender one clinging to him caused nature once 
more to assert itself, the exaltation of his spirit 
drooped, and unbidden tears rushed to his eyes;* 
but, lifting his heart to Him who was sifting His 
servant like fine wheat, he composed his voice, 
and answered with firmness and dignity: 

“Thy words of praise apply not to me, who 
have always been but a sinful man. I rejected 
the truth, preferring idolatry; I have shed inno- 
cent blood; and when burdened and crushed with 
guilt I found mercy at the hands of the great 
and only true Ruler, Jesus Christ, the Son of 
God. Although late — my life having reached 
its meridian — I now know Him who redeemed 
me with His Blood, who gave sight to my child 
whom no earthly skill could cure, and at the 
same time illuminated also the eyes of our hearts, 
that, despising the blindness of idolatrous super- 
stition, we might be converted to the light of 
Christianity. Him I fear, and Him only will I 


* “Acts/ 


PALMS. 


551 


adore; to Him I offer the poor service of my 
worship. I reject idols of stone and metal, which 
I know to be devils, that seek our ruin, and wish 
to drag us with them to the woes of eternal 
death.” * 

As he proceeded with his simple and glorious 
confession, Valerian’s face grew livid with sup- 
pressed wrath, £ind he roared out in his rasping, 
guttural voice: 

“I know the spell of thy magic words, and 
the power of thy incantations, which even slay 
whom thou wilt; for it was by them Maximus 
was slain, that thou mightest escape justice. It 
is plain, moreover, that it is thy purpose to try 
thy dark arts against me, thy lawful ruler, and 
the safety of the State. Thou deservest the se- 
verest penalties instituted for such crimes; but, 
willing to show mercy, sentence shall be delayed 
to offer thee another chance. Wilt thou sacri- 
fice ? ” f 

The reply of Nemesius was a stern, emphatic 
negative. 

All through this trying scene, Claudia clung 
close to his arm, her pale face pressed against it, 
listening to his words, and whispering prayers to 
the divine Christus to deliver them out of the 
hands of the wicked, and bring them safely to 
the joys of His presence. 


* The words of Nemesius. 
f Valerian’s words. 


552 


PALMS. 


A deep silence pervaded the place — the supreme 
moment had come; then, surging and rumbling 
out upon the stillness, the voice of the malicious 
tyrant pronounced sentence: “They are to be 
taken hence to the Temple of Mars, on the Ap- 
pian Way ; there the daughter of Nemesius shall 
be put to death before his eyes, unless, when 
seeing his child about to be executed, he consent 
to save her life and his own by abandoning his 
wicked delusion and sacrificing to the gods. ’ ’ * 

Thus Valerian washed his hands of the blood 
of his victims by throwing the fatal responsi- 
bility on the head of Nemesius, sparing him the 
customary sufferings, to torture him more cruelly 
through his affections. 

Their sentence having been pronounced, 
Nemesius and his little daughter were led away 
to the Temple of Mars. The scene that followed 
has lost none of its heroism and soul-touching 
pathos, nor been dimmed by the seventeen hun- 
dred years that have since passed, but thrills the 
hearts of those who read of it now, as if it had 
happened only yesterday. 

The atrium of the Temple was thronged to 
witness the spectacle. Many were in tears at 
the sight of the beautiful, innocent little maid, 
whose purity shed a halo of sweetness around 
her. She trembled when her eyes fell on the 
rough soldier, with his gleaming axe, who stood 


* As recorded in the Acts. 


PALMS. 


553 


ready to slay lier. It is not recorded what passed 
between her noble father and herself in their 
last embrace, but we can imagine that he bade 
her have courage, that her suffering would only 
be for a moment, and that He whom she loved 
and His Holy Mother were already waiting at 
the portals of the Celestial City to receive her; 
and that she would scarcely have won the diadem 
wherewith she would be crowned, and the palm 
they would place in her hands, before he too 
would be there, to be united with her forever. 
The end was so near that his courage, kindled 
by divine anticipation and undimmed faith, rose 
to a sublime height; with his own hands he cut 
off the golden curls that fell over her fair neck, 
that the axe might strike sure, and bound a 
handkerchief over her eyes; then, holding her 
soft hand in the firm, tender clasp of his own, 
led her to the executioner, and bade her repeat 
the Holy Name of Jesus. 

The man, unnerved at the sight, hesitated to 
strike off the beautiful head; but, terrified by 
the rough command of his captain, he advanced 
with uplifted arm ; there was a flash of steel, and 
the next moment it was crimsoned with innocent 
blood. Like a dove that had broken the fowler’s 
snare, her angelic soul escaped, and she was al- 
ready singing her glad song of praise with the 
celestial hosts. 

Nemesius bent his neck to the axe, still drip- 
ping with the blood of his innocent one, and, 


554 


PALMS. 


repeating the Holy Name aloud, so that all 
might hear — the Name that had lighted her way 
and strengthened her heart — he too passed to his 
eternal reward. 

****** 

That night Fabian, almost benumbed with 
grief, was alone in his private apartment, where 
he had been for some time waiting the appear- 
ance of a person he expected. By the clepsydra 
it was far past midnight. He heard a light foot- 
fall along the corridor, a rustle against the 
leather curtain that hung over the doorway, and 
the youth Admetus entered, bearing a small 
parcel which had been confided to him by an 
official at the Temple of Mars. Fabian, looking 
up, bade him speak his errand, which he did 
with fast-falling tears, his strangely beautiful 
face as white the while as a piece of rare Grecian 
sculpture. 

Camilla had sent him to say that, with the 
connivance of certain Christian soldiers, helped 
by one of the Temple officials (to whom she had 
lavishly given a bribe), she had obtained the sa- 
cred remains of Nemesius and Claudia; and by 
his own wish, expressed some weeks before to 
the Pontiff Stephen, who in turn communicated 
it to her, they were to be entombed in the Cata- 
combs, and were at that moment lying at her 
villa, near the Via Batina, in case Fabian should 
wish to visit them. 

“Tell the Bady Camilla it is well. I leave 


PALMS. 


555 


Rome at dawn. My coming would not restore 
life to the two I most loved, and I have not 
courage to look upon them dead; but I thank 
her in their name for her tender care,” was Fa- 
bian’s brief but pathetic answer. 

Admetus delivered the parcel he had brought, 
and, drawing his cloak closer, departed as si- 
lently as he had come. 

Fabian trimmed the wick of his lamp, and 
with trembling fingers undid the fastenings of 
the clumsily-folded package, and as the coarse 
napkin fell apart, he saw that it contained the 
golden curls of Claudia. * The Temple official, 
who had promised to secure him one, gathered 
them up after Nemesius had cut them off, and 
preserved them until they could be conveyed to 
him. The little girl had promised him one — 
how well he remembered the day, and all that 
had passed between them ! — and as the hair shone 
in beautiful coils and waves of gold in the lamp- 
light, and he thought of the cruel death she had 
just suffered, he bowed his face upon them, and 
wept aloud. When he lifted his head, his once 
smiling countenance was set in stern lines, as 
if nothing earthly could ever brighten it again, 
and every vestige of color had fled from it. The 
old Fabian was no more. 


* Called in the Martyrology Lucilla, the name given her 
by the Pope Stephen in Baptism, when she received her 
sight. The Feast day of Nemesius and Lucilla falls October 
31st. 


PALMS. 


556 

He was going away at the first glimpse of 
dawn, but there were one or two things to be 
done before he could say a last farewell to the 
past. He opened an ivory cabinet, and took out 
the “keepsake” Claudia had given him, which 
he had not unwrapped; for she had bidden him 
not to look at it until after she had gone away. 
She was gone, and he would open it. 

Unfastening the silken cords that had been 
tied by her own dainty fingers, he saw a small 
gem-studded casket in which lay glowing and 
flashing the ruby amulet, with the gold Etruscan 
chain coiled around it, which Eaodice had given 
her that happy day they had spent at the ruined 
Temple of Jupiter on the Aventine. A strange, 
faint odor exhaled from it, and reminded him 
that there had been a mystery associated with it, 
which he would now penetrate. 

No hint of this had reached Claudia’s ear at the 
time the ornament was laid aside as unsuited for 
a child of her age, when she, knowing Fabian’s 
passion for curious gems, had declared it should 
one day be his, and had with touching fidelity 
remembered her promise. 

Selecting a finely-tempered instrument from 
an assortment with which he sometimes amused 
himself cutting intaglios, Fabian, with delicate 
skill, took the amulet to pieces. In the process 
he discovered that the gold band by which the 
two halves of the split ruby were held together, 
leaving a narrow space between, was perforated 


PALMS. 


557 


with innumerable small holes, which were con- 
cealed by the gold filigree work, in which were 
set the encircling pearls. Within he found sev- 
eral grains of a poisonous Eastern drug, so pow- 
erful that, when worn upon the person, its 
exhalations produced slow but certain death. 
He had heard of this deadly drug in his wander- 
ings, and had once seen it. He threw the poison 
on the expiring coals of the brasier that stood 
on a tripod near him; there was a hissing as 
from a nest of vipers, then a blue thin flame 
shot up to the gold-fretted ceiling, then expired 
in fumes of deathly odors. 

Cleansing the gem, and bathing it in perfume, 
Fabian folded one of the golden curls between 
it, then threw around his neck the old Etruscan 
chain to which it was suspended ; and the amu- 
let, thus consecrated by the relic of a martyr, 
never left its resting-place on his heart, even in 
death. With a bitter malediction he consigned 
Laodice to the evil Furies that punish crime. 
He laid two of the beautiful curls in the little 
casket that had held the amulet, marking one 
for Camilla and one for Zilla; and, after sealing 
it, directed it to the former, in care of his 
notary, to be delivered as soon as received. 
Then — beautiful thought of his pagan but faith- 
ful heart — he kindled a fire of cinnamon and 
spices on his brazier, and laid what was left of 
the golden tresses on the perfumed flame — the 
funeral pyre of his love — and watched them un- 


558 


PALMS. 


til they were consumed. When the sun rose, 
Fabian was on board his galley going southward. 

Symphronius was arrested, and brought before 
Olympus, a tribune, who was commanded by 
Valerian to torture him, by which cruel means 
he hoped to obtain from him the treasures of 
Nemesius. They stretched him upon the rack 
until his bones were disjointed; they tortured his 
flesh until every nerve in his old body was stung 
with pain; but his brave answer through it all 
was still the same: “If ye seek from me the 
riches of my master Nemesius, ye will not get 
them; for they are already distributed amongst 
the poor. If I am to sacrifice, I will sacrifice 
only to Our Lord Jesus Christ.” 

His glorious testimony and pious constancy 
excited the wonder of Olympus, who ordered the 
lictors to cease torturing him ; the grace of God 
had touched the heart of the tribune, and before 
the dawn of another day he and his family were 
converted to Christianity. 

When their conversion was reported to Valer- 
ian, he was frantic with rage; he ordered that 
Symphronius, with Olympus and his family, 
should be brought in chains to the Temple of 
the Barth, whence, after being severely tortured, 
they were to be taken and burned to death be- 
fore the statue of the Sun, near the Flavian Am- 
phitheatre.* No time was lost in the execution 


* Their bodies were borne away that night by Pope Ste- 
phen and his deacons and buried on the Via Latina. — “Acts.” 


PALMS. 559 

of this cruel edict, and the victims received the 
crown and palm of martyrdom. 

******** 

The war with Persia, so many months im- 
pending, finally began. Sapor, at the head of an 
immense army, invaded the Roman possessions 
in the East, and was capturing cities and laying 
waste the lands Over which he passed. Galli- 
enus, the son of Valerian, who shared the Em- 
pire with him, was called to Rome, and charged 
with the defence of the West during his father’s 
absence. Assured of victorious campaigns un- 
der the invincible Eagles, and that Sapor would 
be brought captive to Rome to grace a triumph, 
the public mind was lulled into a seductive state 
of ease and security, until one day, in the midst 
of the Saturnalian revelries, news of disaster 
came, which fell upon Rome like a thunderbolt. 
In an attempt to relieve Edessa, the Emperor 
had been defeated and captured, his whole army 
made prisoners, and the Persians were overrun- 
ning Asia Minor. 

Shall we not anticipate events a little, and 
tell the fate of this detestable tyrant, who had so 
long persecuted the Church of God, and poured 
out the blood of His saints like water ? History 
records that ‘ 1 the Persian monarch Sapor, or 
Shah Pur, treated his victim with the greatest 
indignity and cruelty. He used him as a foot- 
stool for mounting his horse, and finally ordered 
him to be put to death ; then caused him to be 


560 


PALMS. 


flayed, and his skin to be painted red and sus- 
pended in one of the Persian temples, as a mon- 
ument of disgrace to the. Romans. ’ ’ 

Did remorse add its scorpion lash to his pun- 
ishment? Did the knowledge that his thank- 
less son Gallienus, then enjoying his Imperial 
dignities and power, had left him at the mercy 
of his ruthless enemies without making the faint- 
est effort either by ransom or force to liberate him, 
sting his corrupt heart with that pang which is 
said to be “sharper than a serpent’s tooth?” 
None can tell — it is only sure that vengeance is 
the Dord’s, and He will repay. 

We return now to panic-stricken Rome. Gal- 
lienus had gone to his father’s villa on the 
Latian coast, below Ostia, for the benefit of the 
warm salt baths. The disastrous news from the 
army flew as on the wings of the wind to every 
camp in and around Rome, rousing the soldiers 
to an excitement that broke through the re- 
straints of discipline; and the populace, recov- 
ering with quick rebound from its panic, flamed 
out in still more extravagant excesses than the 
Saturnalian license allowed, until by the time 
night closed over the scene a general tumult en- 
sued, and Rome was for the present given over 
to lawlessness and pillage. 

Before midnight the guards around the impe- 
rial palace had been driven in, and every avenue 
of approach to it was choked up with a drunken, 
yelling crowd, endeavoring to force their way in 


PALMS. 


56l 

for plunder and other crimes; and while they 
are battering down one of the iron-plated doors, 
we will enter, for what purpose will be pres- 
ently seen. 

The Cypriot has preceded us to the apartments 
of Taodice, and is advising her to gather up her 
jewels and gold and fly to a place of safety, to 
which he will conduct her. Faithful slave! con- 
fiding mistress! She fills a leather wallet with 
her rare, costly jewels, worth the ransom of a 
king; the Cypriot stuffs another with gold. 
They hear a frightful crash : the iron-plated door 
has fallen, the populace swarm in. Snatching a 
dark-hooded cloak, and terrified almost to death, 
she grasps the Cypriot’s hand, and together they 
fly along dark passages and out through the 
stable — she with the jewels, her companion with 
the gold — a heavy enough load for a man in wild 
flight for life. 

Passing through narrow, zigzag ways, they 
reach the Pincian Hill, and are tearing through 
a dense thicket, she slightly in advance, stumb- 
ling in the darkness, when suddenly a sharp, hot 
sting pierces her under the left shoulder, and she 
falls without a cry — dead. The Cypriot draws 
out his stiletto from her heart, seizes the wallet 
of jewels from her still warm hand, and flies on, 
on, on, in mad race, until by ways known to him- 
self he reaches the Viminal, which he begins to 
ascend, when he is suddenly confronted by a 
party of half-drunken soldiers; they try to halt 


PALMS. 


562 

him, but he breaks away, and is off again like a 
mountain goat, they pursuing in hot chase. 
They gain upon him; he is now on the Urban 
Way, and, weighted as he is with his plunder, 
he despairs of escape; for his legs tremble under 
him, and he feels that in a few moments they 
will fail him. But suddenly he thinks of the 
house of Hippolytus, which for some time past 
has been deserted; he knows it is near at hand — 
he sees it looming through the shadows, and by 
a supreme effort he collects every energy, reaches 
it, and disappearing within, plunges into the cel- 
lars which lead to the dungeons beyond. He 
hears the soldiers clattering down the stone steps 
in hot pursuit; he is trapped — but no — he finds a 
deep, narrow arch into which he slips, and as he 
presses himself fiat against the wall, hoping to 
elude their search ; a door gives way behind him 
through which he springs and finds himself in a 
series of dark passages winding one into another, 
without a ray of light to guide his course. 
Gods! how he runs panting and stumbling 
through the impenetrable gloom of those inter- 
minable galleries, until, his breath being spent, 
he halts to listen! No sound reaches his ears 
except the tumultuous thumping of his own 
heart; the silence of death reigns, and the hunted 
wretch drops exhausted. He has escaped and 
his plunder of gold and jewels is safe, but where 
is he? He had penetrated by an accident into 
those unexplored catacombs from which none 


PALMS. • 


563 

who had ever ventured within them had returned 
to tell the tale. * * Here, madly wandering through 
the terrible darkness, the Cypriot lived a few 
brief days which seemed to him like years, and 
to add to his despair, he once laid down his 
treasures to rest his waning strength for a few 
moments, went forward a short distance guiding 
his staggering footsteps by pressing close to the 
wall, then returning, intending to lay his head 
upon them and sleep — but they were not there. 
He had, in turning back, got into another gal- 
lery. Uttering wild shrieks and cries that rang 
and echoed in terrific reverberations through 
those black cavernous depths, and swept back 
upon him like a host of Furies, he beat his head 
against the jagged rocks, tore his flesh with his 
teeth, and, like the cowardly wretch he was, 
ended his present suffering by piercing his cor- 
rupt heart with the stiletto upon which the blood 
of Uaodice was scarcely dry. 

Tertullus fell in battle, and Camilla, accom- 
panied by Zilla (now a Christian), and a neophyte 
named Cypria, retired to the old walled villa out 
near the Via Latina, where, in the exercise of 
every Christian virtue, and spending much of 
their time in the Catacombs, ministering to the 
needs of the persecuted Church, they lived until 
the army of Constantine, led by the Sign of the 

1 

*Some years ago a party of scholastics from the Pro- 
paganda ventured into this labyrinth and were lost. It is 
yet unexplored. 


a PALMS. 


564 

Son of Man in the heavens, overthrew the altars 
of the gods, and planted the Cross upon their 
ruins. Then was accomplished the prophecy of 
the seer from the Euphrates, on Mt. Phogor, in 
the Land of Moab, seven hundred years before 
the Roman Empire was founded: “They shall 
come in galleys from Italy; they shall overthrow 
the Assyrians, and waste the Hebrews; and at 
the last they themselves also shall perish. ’ ’ 

One day a monk, still noble-looking, though 
bowed with years, asked an interview with the 
Christian Pontiff. It was Fabian, come to de- 
liver up the trust confided to him by Nemesius, 
and turn his own wealth with it into the treas- 
ury of the Church, now no longer hiding in the 
Catacombs — for the shadows had fled, she had 
come “forth as the morning rising, fair as the 
moon, bright as the sun, and terrible as an army 
set in array. ’ ’ Clothed in garments of beauty, the 
Spouse had come forth with songs of rejoicing. 

And when at last Fabian died, his remains 
were entombed near those of Nemesius and his 
child Eucilla, by the holy priest Admetns, who 
knew the exact place of their repose. When 
preparing his body for sepulture, a ruby medal- 
lion, which clasped a curl of golden hair, was 
found upon his breast. “It is the relic of a 
martyr, ’ ’ said Admetns the priest, who knew 
what it was; “let it abide with him in death. ” 


The End. 


APPENDIX. 


565 


APPENDIX. 


LIKENESSES OF OUR LORD. 

THE HOLY FACE. 

The iollowing tradition is from a work called “The Mar- 
tyr of Golgotha,” by Enrique Perez Escrich, a Spanish 
writer: 

* * * * “Jesus had accomplished half the distance to 
Golgotha, when, overcome once more by the terrible weight 
of the cross upon His shoulders that were lacerated and in- 
flamed by the scourging, He fell a third time to the ground. 
Shouts of derision and laughter greeted His fall as before. 
Ji^st then a woman ran out of a neighboring house; in her 
hands she held a towel of the finest linen. Her name was 
Seraphia. 

“She drew near Jesus the Nazarene, and kneeling rever- 
ently before Him said: 

“ ‘ Master! let me, humble sinner that I am, wipe away the 
blood and dust and sweat from Thy visage with this cloth 
woven by my own hands.’ 

“ ‘God will reward thy charity, woman,’ answered Jesus: 
‘Behold what I leave thee in memory of this.’ 

“A cry of joy escaped the lips of Seraphia. The face of 
Jesus had remained imprinted on the linen towel she still 
held in her hands. 

“Jesus, before continuing on his way, added: 

‘“Seraphia, from this day thou shalt be called Veronica, 
for in thy hands have I left my true image .’ ” 

To the above the following tradition, found in “The Vic- 


APPENDIX. 


566 

tims of the Mamertine,” by the Rev. Dr. O’Reilly, seems a 
fitting accompaniment: 

“Tiberius Csesar being afflicted with a most loathsome 
leprosy, which the skill of his physicians could neither cure 
nor mitigate, bethought himself one day of the strange re- 
ports sent by the Procurator of Judea to the Roman Senate 
relating to a certain remarkable Nazarene called Jesus 
Christ, who had appeared in various parts of the province 
and in the city of Jerusalem followed by great crowds, who 
hung upon his words and witnessed the wonderful things he 
did, such as giving sight to the blind, curing lepers, healing 
the sick, and raising the dead to life. A sudden ray of hope 
dawned on the mind of Tiberius while pondering these 
things, and he resolved to send with all speed for the won- 
der-working Nazarene to come and heal him. Losing no 
time, he appointed trustworthy commissioners to proceed 
without delay to Judea, who bore a letter from himself to 
Jesus requesting His presence, and were directed to conduct 
Him with all honor to Rome. But when the commissioners 
arrived at Jerusalem the first news they heard was that He 
whom they sought had been crucified. Knowing the violent 
temper of their imperial master, and that they might possi- 
bly become the victims of his disappointment, they dreaded 
to return, and were almost beside themselves with apprehen- 
sion. While in this state of uncertainty they accidentally 
heard a strange story of a woman of Jerusalem called Ve- 
ronica. This woman, they learned, having seen Jesus fall 
under the weight of His cross on His way to Calvary, ran to 
Him, and kneeling beside Him wiped the blood and sweat 
from His visage with a fine linen napkin, and that He left 
the image of His face upon it to reward her charity, and 
that when the sick and the dying looked upon it they were 
healed. The imperial commissioners immediately sought 
Veronica, and offered her ten talents for the napkin, believ- 
ing that it would heal their master could he but look upon 
it; but Veronica declared that she would not part with it for 
ten thousand talents, or for all the gold in the world. Then 
they besought her to show it to them. This she consented 


APPENDIX. 


567 

to do on condition that they would make no attempt to pos- 
sess themselves of it by force, which they willingly prom- 
ised. She went into her own chamber and presently returned 
with a square brass-bound cedar-wood box secured by locks. 
She lifted the lid; there was another box inside, and within 
that another, which she reverently opened, and, raising a 
cover of fine linen, showed them the Holy Face as it ap- 
peared at the moment it was miraculously impressed on 
the napkin. 

“Finding that on ho' consideration would she consent to part 
with her sacred treasure, they appealed to her charity to ac- 
company them to Rome, that their imperial master might look 
upon the holy image and be healed. She consented, moved 
by the same divine pity for the suffering that on the terrible 
day of Christ’s crucifixion had led her to rush out of her 
house, fearless of Roman spears and Jewish hate, and wipe 
the blood and sweat from the face of Him they were leading 
away with curses and derision to the death of the cross. 
Arrived at Rome, Veronica was conducted to Tiberius Caesar, 
where, having opened her triple cedar-wood box, she ex- 
posed the Holy Face to his view, and looking upon it he was 
healed of his loathsome malady.” 

So far the tradition, which to the devout heart is easy of 
belief. 


PORTRAITS OF OUR SAVIOUR. 

Tertullian and other writers of antiquity refer to portraits 
of our Lord which they had seen.* It is reasonable to be- 
lieve that among the numerous Greeks scattered throughout 
the Roman Provinces, including that of Judea, there were 
some artists of skill, who — like the artists of our own times 
— lost no opportunity to obtain the portraits of illustrious, 
remarkable and distinguished personages. It is not then to 
be supposed that a man so wonderful as Jesus the great 
Nazarene, who was reputed of Divine origin, wrought the 
most surprising miracles, and whose fame was spread abroad 


* A very interesting collection of some of these ancient portraits of Christ 
appeared in a recent number of Harper’s Magazine. 


APPENDIX. 


568 

by His teaching and works, was one likely to have escaped 
their observation, or that they did not seek and find oppor- 
tunities to sketch and perpetuate His likeness on panels of 
wood, carved on gems, or sculptured in basso-relievo on 
marble; or that the immaculate Virgin Mother did not also 
furnish a fruitful subject for their skill. And what is more 
likely than that, after the terrible drama of the crucifixion 
and the surprising supernatural events which succeeded it, 
these portraits should have been copied and reproduced, not 
only to satisfy the demands of His friends, but of the curious 
who knew His wonderful history, yet without believing in 
Him as a Divine Person. 

Of one of these portraits, engraved on a large emerald, 
tradition gives a pretty authentic account. At the battle 
of Lepanto, where the Moslem power in Europe received its 
mortal blow, a brother of the Sultan was taken prisoner 
by the Christians. The Sultan — reigning at Constantinople, 
formerly the capital of the Christian world, and captured by 
the Moslems with all the priceless treasures of the Church 
that it contained — sent commissioners to Rome empowered 
to negotiate the release of his favorite brother. Among the 
invaluable treasures offered to the Pope — Innocent VIII — 
for his ransom, was a large emerald, on which is graven the 
profile face of our divine Lord, the countenance full of 
majesty and infinitely sad, and under it the legend: “Jesu 
Christe. Cut by order of Tiberius Caesar.” 

This emerald is, it is believed, still preserved among the 
treasures of the Vatican. Drawings, engravings and paint- 
ings have been made from it. There is a fine painting of it 
in the Church of the Gesu, in Rome, but the coloring seems 
to rob the face of some of that wonderful expression which 
is preserved and intensified by the simple black and white 
of the finely engraved copies. 

There are other portraits of our Lord extant, several of 
them bearing a rude resemblance to the one described, 
which are possibly the works of those who had love as their 
motif, but not the skill to execute their desire. 

Next best to the emerald likeness is a pen-portrait, 
which is said to be a translation from a Latin contemporary 


APPENDIX. 


5 ^ 

historian of the time of Christ. The English betrays a very 
early period of English literature, and is almost as crude as 
Chaucer’s. Of the authenticity of the original there is no 
direct proof that the writer of this is aware of; but it cer- 
tainly impresses itself on the mind as a true description, 
which corresponds with the profile portrait graven on the 
emerald “by order of Tiberius Caesar.” 

“News to the Senate of Rome concerning Jesus Christ , in 
the days of Tiberius Caesar, the Emperor, as the Governors 
of sundry provinces under the Senate and people of Rome, 
used to advertise the Senate of such news as chanced in 
divers countries. 

“Publius Lentules, being at that time President in Judea, 
wrote an epistle to the Senate and people of Rome, the 
words whereof were these: — 

“There has appeared in these, our days, a man of great 
virtue named Jesus Christ, who is yet living amongst us, and 
of the Gentiles is accepted as a prophet of Truth, but his 
own disciples call him the Son of God. He raiseth the dead, 
and cureth all manner of diseases. A man of stature, some- 
what tall and comely, with a very reverend countenance, 
such as the beholder may both love and fear; his hair the 
color of a filbert full ripe, and plain almost down to his ears, 
but from the ears downward somewhat curled and more 
orient of color, waving on his shoulders. In the midst of 
his head goeth a seam or partition of his hair, after the man- 
ner of the Nazarites; his forehead very plain and smooth; 
his face without spot or wrinkle, beautified with a comely 
red; his nose and mouth so formed as nothing can be repre- 
hended; his beard somewhat thick, agreeable in color to the 
hair of his head; in the midst of an innocent and mature 
look, his eyes gray, clear and quick. In reproving he is 
terrible; in admonishing, courteous and fair-spoken; pleas- 
ant in his speech, mixed with gravity. It cannot be remem- 
bered that any have seen him laugh, but many have seen 
him weep. In proportion of body, well shaped and straight, 
his hands and arms right and delectable to behold; in speak- 
ing, very temperate, modest and wise. A man for singular 
beauty surpassing the children of men.” 



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